Sunny with a Few Hot Pink Clouds

The liberals turned out to be right.  Not completely (they never were) but enough for the moral victory they were always so content to chase.  Pollution had in fact brought about a worldwide calamity that would radically alter the way future generations existed on Earth.  It simply wasn’t the one everyone had been expecting.



On the 14th day of the second month, a hot pink cloud wafted down from a smokestack atop a greeting card factory.  An almighty wind caught the cloud and carried it to the nearest turnpike.  There were no accidents, but those driving by who happened to breath in the fumes of the cloud, discovered a rather odd phenomenon: they no longer knew understood the emotion of love.



It wasn’t that they weren’t capable of love.  They simply weren’t aware it existed.  Attempts to explain the emotion to them were as successful as attempts to explain what the color blurple looks like to someone who had never seen it.  After numerous tests, the only thing that the scientists were able to establish was that the condition was highly infectious.



Quarantines were quickly put in place, but to no avail.  Within a period of six months, ninety percent of the population had contracted the malady.  By the end of the year, love had been curb stomped out of existence.



The effects were seen in all aspects of life.  Minds suddenly clearer, individuals began making more prudent financial investments.   Stagnant national economies were quickly revitalized and countries no longer sure why they were competing, allowed themselves to be melded into a singular, global trade market.   Sex became regulated by an efficient and well organized governmental bureau (the first of its kind), which wiped out sexually transmitted diseases in their fifth year.   With comfort foods out of the supermarkets, obesity rates found themselves starving for fatter statistics.  The arts suffered, but no one complained.



The only human being immune to the virus was a six year old girl named Misha, who spent her nights clutching a ratty brown bear, wishing her parents would have any other reaction ,when she confided to them she believed a monster lived in her closet, than to laugh in her face and tell her how illogical she was being.

© 2017 by Edwin Poché. No animals were (especially) harmed in the making of this site.

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