Heat

The air was on fire, yet no flames could be seen with the naked eye. But perhaps that was because the light from the sun scorched every iris that dared peek out from under its over-protective lashes. The flames could be felt though. On the skin that reddened with dislike. In every breath of blistering wind, reluctant to provide the oxygen it should have. On every dry tongue that begged for water until the stomach screamed that it couldn't take any more.

Though there wasn't a desert to be seen for miles, the once-sumptuous soil had turned to sand, steadily melting itself into glass. And the luscious green grass had long since removed its colorful gowns in exchange for dull paper wrappings. Then those sentinel trees--old and experienced as they were--refused to complain, though their younger counterparts passed away in droves of skeletal branches.

There were the grasshoppers too, cooked in their carapaces alongside writhing beetles and foolish worms that dared venture out into the light. The dogs stayed under their porches, sharing shady passages with cats in their desperation to stay cool. And the once-boisterous birds couldn't be seen or heard for miles, so great was their distress.

The one thing that was hoped for--wished for--begged for--simply refused to visit for even the briefest of seconds. The one thing that was sought after more desperately than history could recall, was not a cool breeze, the rain, or storm.

The one thing that was desired above all else--above icy lemonade and frozen popsicles and sweetly dripping ice cream--the one thing that all things desired, as the stones heated to boiling and the ponds turned to steam--was a single cloud, to become a barricade against the sun that set the air aflame.