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PodCastle is the world’s first audio fantasy magazine. Weekly, we broadcast the best in fantasy short stories, running the gammut from heart-pounding sword and sorcery, to strange surrealist tales, to gritty urban fantasy, to the psychological depth of magical realism. Our podcast features authors including N.K. Jemisin, Peter S. Beagle, Benjamin Rosenbaum, Jim C. Hines, and Cat Rambo, among others. Terry Pratchett once wrote, “Fantasy is an exercise bicycle for the mind. It might not take you anywhere, but it tones up the muscles that can.” Tune in to PodCastle each Tuesday for our weekly tale, and spend the length of a morning commute giving your imagination a work out.

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PodCastle 667: Clouds in a Clear Blue Sky







* Author : Matt Dovey
* Narrator : Matthew James Hamblin
* Host : Summer Fletcher
* Audio Producer : Peter Adrian Behravesh
*
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PodCastle 667: Clouds in a Clear Blue Sky is a PodCastle original.


Content warning: death, grief


Rated PG-13.
Clouds in a Clear Blue Sky
By Matt Dovey
It were a clear blue day, what with the factory shut for the funeral and wake.
Colin was slumped in the pub garden’s swing, his straw hair sticking out every which way despite his mam’s best efforts with the Brylcreem. Me and Trev were stood by quiet, our hands lost in the oversized pockets of our borrowed suits. Trev’s cheeks had gone red and purple in the heat, his top button still done up and straining against his neck.
Mark came back out the pub with a plate of sausage rolls that he offered round.
“What’s it like in there?” I asked.
“Grim,” said Mark. “Your Uncle Gareth’s lost his jacket, and then he says it doesn’t matter compared to losing Colin’s dad, and then he starts crying again. Seen it happen three times while I were at the buffet.”
“Yeah, well,” I said. “Best mates, weren’t they?”
Colin grunted, swung himself a bit harder, but said nowt.
“Here, Colin,” said Mark, holding the plate out. “Fancy a sausage roll?”
Colin shrugged, carried on almost as if he hadn’t heard. Then he got up and stomped to the picnic bench and drank his Coke back in one go, then slammed the glass down so hard we all flinched thinking it’d smash.
“This is shit,” Colin said. “Really shit. Shit shit shit.”
Well there weren’t much to say to that, really, cos he was right, so we stood and picked at the sausage rolls awkwardly.
Colin stared us all in the face. “You know they wouldn’t even let me see inside the casket? My own dad! I should have a right!”
“Colin, mate,” said Trev, patting him on the shoulder as reassuring as he could. “If they din’t let you it’s for a reason. We all know what it’s like in that factory. All sorts of dangerous stuff.”
“I don’t know though, do I? Not my thirteenth birthday till next month, so I ain’t been shown round yet.” Colin suddenly sniffed and wiped away an angry tear. “He’d already got me my workboots. Found ’em in the bottom of his wardrobe this morning when I was looking for the shoe polish.”
“Oh mate,” I said. “I . . .” what? How to say anything that wouldn’t sound like summat we’d copied off our mams? ‘He’d’ve been proud for everyone in the factory to see you with him, and proud to show you round and have you see where he did his work, and everyone always said he was the best at cloudmaking, a real artist, you could always tell when your dad was on shift cos the sunsets looked like bloody magic’? Colin knew all that, and he’d know we meant it, but saying it out loud would sound stupid. There weren’t no good way to say Colin, mate, this is shit, you don’t deserve it, but we bloody love you and we’ll get through it, alright? Cos no matter how you said it his head was too full of angry buzzing to hear it.
His head and his mouth both,


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 February 24, 2021  41m