Jane Jago’s Drabbles – Four Hundred and Sixty-Eight

They called it the green cloud, and it was the biggest fear of the dirt farmers and market gardeners who lived around the margins of the lake.

They posted sentries high in the branches of the shade trees, and the cry of ‘green cloud’ sent terror into every heart.

On the day of the sandstorm a shout of ‘green cloud’ ripped through the air at the same time as laboured aircraft engine noise.

A hijacked aeroplane barrelled into the cloud of insects and smashed into the ground before bursting into flames.

The suicide bomber took ten million locusts with him…

©️jj 2020

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