Short Story Of Nimbostratus

Bivouac night sky ensnares him under a bleached moon. The pitter patter of his steps quickens as he sprints down the street.
Trepidation takes him by the throat, filling him with shame and regret and a stagnant knell. I thought I could hear the night making noise, the whispering and uttering of incessant static coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. The constant, inescapable enigma that drapes him and everything he’s ever lived through: it’s nimbostratus veiling his heart. He can’t see through it, and he can’t feel anything through it but acquiesce dejection through it. He blamed himself. Soft, silvery rain falls from a gunmetal sky so densely that my lungs cave in. Gravelly ground greets his face before he can reach his next step,