The Clouds

The clouds were the only escape from the horror. The only escape from reality. Escape from the bitter cold eating away at her. Emily looked down from her staring contest with the clouds, only to find her situation unchanged. She was still atop the Sierra Mountains.  As far as the eye could see there were snowy peaks. Her tattered coat was hanging low and her thin skirt full of holes were the only clothes she had. All that was left was a wagon with no ox, and she barely had any food. She was the only survivor of a cholera plague in her family. Her dream to get to California through the Oregon Trail had turned into a nightmare. The clouds were outstretched as far as she could see, coating the mountains that seemed to go on forever. She looked out to the unforgiving wind, covering her eyes from the burning white of the mountains. She trekked along her makeshift sled, made of scraps of wood from her wagon. There she carried any food or water she could get. The wild forests of pine before her brought a wave of fear crashing through her, not knowing what awaited her there. Emily headed forward, hoping to someday reach civilization, or a pioneer camp, at least, to rest and finally feel comfortable. Her hazel eyes set on the clouds once more. Her heartbeat slowed to normal, but the overwhelming sense of sadness from her family’s passing surpassed the assurance of the moving clouds.