He didn’t know why he was here. It made zero sense, and seemed impossible. He didn’t want to be a part of this, and while the others were nice to him, he knew that they were confused as well. Sammy stayed mostly because he didn’t have anywhere else to go, or anyone else to be with. They kept him around because he’d always been there, since the inception. They seemed to like having him around, and never questioned his presence until the big moments, and even then it wasn’t cruel, merely … a question. There was a kind of camaraderie between them. They protected Sammy when he needed it, and he in turn provided an ear or a shoulder – metaphorically speaking. It was a nice arrangement.
But even in the midst of the others, he felt completely alone.
They were rowdy, intense. Moving across the sky, dumping torrential rains in their path. He was wispy and carefree, pulled along by their might. Sammy had nothing to contribute to storms, he resorted to handing out hardy congratulations when they finished with their might and spectacle.
Sometimes the bank of cumulonimbus would encounter others. If they weren’t absorbed, the battles were epic. Spectacular light shows, loud clashes of thunderous proportions, and powerful downpours that resulted in raging floods.
They never encountered another cirrus for Sammy to talk to, however. The gentle, whimsical strands were pushed away long before Sammy and crew ever came upon them. It was probably better that way, they wouldn’t be harmed if they were nowhere near, but it didn’t stop Sammy from wishing that just once he could spend some time talking to somebody more like him.
Occasionally, Sammy would wander off a little bit. Never too far, and never for very long. But sometimes he just needed a moment to himself. To putter around the vast expanse of sky alone, to see the world below without a haze of rain. He’d drift here and there until the others pulled him back over, ready to move on, or just missing his nearness. During these times, Sammy might talk to himself as if he were talking to another fluff of cloud. Quietly conversing about dandelions kicking up their seeds, or other such things that thunderheads didn’t care about. And sometimes he’d just let the breeze blow him about, periodically wondering what it would be like to just let it pull him apart.