Blue Cloud


Blue Cloud
by Azarin Sadegh

It was the last summer we spent in Tehran. Everyone was supposed to leave Earth, for good. Mother and Alephba had already spent more than two weeks going through all the memory reservoirs to pick and choose what to take and what to leave behind. Earth’s temperature was going to reach the unbearable. All the fishes of the Caspian Sea had died. The green trees of Amirieh had turned black, and the winds of the south had covered the city in a gray layer of sand.

Father waited for us on Perspolis245, our new home in the Milky Way.

But I loved our old house. I loved its deep remoteness, its walls crowded with paintings a thousand years old where vast rivers flew, drunken poets sang, green jungles penetrated beyond the boundaries of wildness, and serpents and tigers danced hand in hand with naked angels. I loved Mother’s wooden sets of chess and my old seesaw.

Everything was going to burn into ashes.

Mother kept complaining from a mysterious headache since this morning. Yet she hadn’t given up. Going through every piece, she seemed buried under the tension. “Do you remember this picture?” she asked, while pointing at a photo in her hand. “Here you took your first step,” she told me. “And this is Dogmeh, your turtle, who resembled Father’s spaceship.“ She smiled painfully while I was trying to remember the name of my first robot who had taught me how to disappear without a trace.

“Are we going to be ok?” I asked her, and waited.

Mother hadn’t heard my question. I had never seen her so withdrawn, except for the day grandma had died of oldness. Back then, to make her forget this inevitable destiny, Father had taken us to a fourth dimension trip and we had gone flying inside the Emam Parastoo black hole near Takht Jamshid Galaxy, where Mother cried in her sleep, and told us – the next day - that she was going to incarnate into a weeping willow in her next life. None of us ever believed her.

She wasn’t one of those believable kinds of human; she loved antics. She still loved to read old books, made of paper, mostly perished by now, turning into dust at the turn of each page. “We’re going to die soon,” she told me one day.

But now, it was the Earth’s turn to evanesce, melting, vanishing, drifting away inside an endless cosmos.

With the Earth gone, none of us was going to feel fully alive, fully human, again.

I went to my room. It was too dark but I didn’t intend to turn on the light. I got naked, and imagined my body evaporating into the hot air floating like a blue cloud. I plunged into the virtual pool and kept crawling to let the fatigue and sweat make me forget the future.

Restless, I wanted to go out, for a walk, or at least open the window, for one last glance at the city of my childhood. One last breath. But we were all programmed to obey the rules. Programmed to abandon our home the next day.

At only 234, I felt so old.

I opened the shutters and the light poured in. “What time is it now?” I wondered. The alarms had already gone off.

“Shutting the shutters, Shutting the shutters,” announced Maryam, our home’s central brain, and my room went dark, again.


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more from Azarin Sadegh
David ET

But somehow

by David ET on

I didn't feel sad reading it and not even for you leaving earth and not even felt bad for the earth...

May be because all along I knew it was a fiction and I had fun at that! laughing at comedian who redicules the tragedies of life

It was your naughty imagination that made me smile and your ability to mix it ALL.

Well done again.. I sure feel better at 52 now!




by yolanda on

It is a sad story! Even the tree you picked is a sad one: weeping willow.....just amazing! Nice accompanying picture with the blue cloud...




Good read

by jamshid on

It's not easy to write about something that is both nostalgic and futuristic, but you've done well doing just that! You have a great imagination! Thanks for another good read.

bajenaghe naghi

Azarin jan

by bajenaghe naghi on

What a great futuristic story.  Both sad and delightful.  Many favourite points but feeling old at only 234 was the one that made me smile in all that devestation on earth and your hopes of happiness in you new home. 

mostafa ghanbari

why am I here? And why I am not...? Where should I...?

by mostafa ghanbari on


Ambiguous, complicated and nostalgic, as the nature of human life is, so is the existence  of soul-fettered but free. Let's keep opening and shutting the shutters. Let's shuttle. Let's get vaporized and floated on the surface of the blue clouds. Let's forget all about the warps and wefts of the sophisticated  fabric of life. Let's imagine and fabricate a life of eternity

Dear Azarin, you have beautifullyl revealed a bit of the mysterious world within.



nostalgia too khoonemooneh aakheh

by Monda on

You know that. That's why you express it so well.

Azarin Sadegh

Thanks to all of you!

by Azarin Sadegh on

My Dear IC friends,

Thank you so much for your lovely and encouraging comments! I find it so ironic that even my "futuristic" story has ended being nostalgic...:-) 


Jahanshah Javid

Real future

by Jahanshah Javid on

Great story Azarin. At the pace we are currently messing up the environment, a disaster of this magnitude is not hard to imagine. This is realistic sci-fi and you did a beautiful job in making us feel the sadness of leaving our home & home planet.


Azarin jan

by Souri on

Great fiction story. I follow Redwine and Monda to tell you how your "futuristic" story brought back lots of Nostalgic memories in my mind :)

I miss those rainy spring says in Iran now!

Thanks for sharing.


Azarin jan, I feel nostalgic!

by Monda on

Beautiful work!  

There are so many parallels' between your mom's life and mine in my present condition. I can relate to her so well, and also to you in the story. Big moves involve intense emotions, allowing people to re-prioritize tasks and to strengthen our defenses.  It's nice to read self-survival skills are still needed in other galaxies and other times.  I Love your imagination.  

btw I also like the idea of being a weeping willow instead of a human, in another life time. 

Red Wine


by Red Wine on

دلمان برای نوشته‌های شما تنگ شده بود.

بلاگ شما را خواندیم و لذت بردیم.

مطالب شما همیشه سبز هستند و بهاری،یعنی‌ جدید هستند و غنی !

پاینده باشید.


Multiple Personality Disorder

Uhhh! A futuristic melancholy!

by Multiple Personality Disorder on

That’s what I was lacking this morning. And now, I feel much better knowing there will be more sorrowful tales in the near, and distant, future.


Good story

by Cost-of-Progress on

but sad. I liked the idea of virtual pool.




Darius Kadivar

Nice Azarin Jaan

by Darius Kadivar on

Original, Spicy and Spacy ! ;0)


What a cozy & sweet little story

by SamSamIIII on


smooth . A joy to read.

Cheers & thanks dear Azarin!!! 

Persepolis 245 :) 

Path of Kiaan Resurrection of True Iran Hoisting Drafshe Kaviaan // //