In-The-Dark-Cloud Town Where People Wear Mud

By J. L. Thurston

There is a town in America called Gruntings. Gruntings is just like any other small, Midwestern town you’d see. Early 1900’s buildings lined up along Main Street, cute parks, a small bank, an old school, far too many churches. But Gruntings differs from any town in the world by one unique factor: Gruntings is isolated from the world by a cloud.

The cloud is thick and whirls around the perimeter of the town in a manner that resembles a constrictor twisting its body around quivering prey. Through various shades of gray and black, the residents of Gruntings do not pass through the cloud under any circumstances. They are different from the world. The cloud has affected them. When the people of Gruntings get up in the morning, they roll out of bed and fall right into a mud pile they have on floor. It’s standard in the Gruntings culture to be covered in mud all day long. To be seen without mud all over your body would be like any of us stepping outside to see our neighbor mowing the grass naked.

Once a healthy layer of mud has been applied, the citizens can go about their daily lives much in the way that any other American would. The most conservative Gruntingsite carries a jar of mud in case he or she needs to freshen up throughout the day.

For many decades, Gruntings has remained a unique, in-the-dark-cloud town and that’s been just fine. Sometimes the cloud would get darker and thicker and windier, such as around 1965, September of 2001, and many more dates that came and went. Always, the cloud would settle back down again and remain constant in its usual state.

Lately, the cloud around Gruntings has swollen once more. 2020 has been a rough year, according to the cloud. It has become darker, coiling and roiling now more of a swirling cyclone. The older residents of the town aren’t so worried about it. They’ve seen it happen before. It’ll go back to normal eventually.

It was a little annoying, though. Very little light could shine on Gruntings. The sky was dark and blocked by the thick clouds. The wind it created became antagonistic. The muddied skin dries so quickly that it cracks and falls off before lunch. The howling it makes down the alleys and through the tree branches makes it difficult to hear so most people have to shout at each other if they’re outside. Good-natured citizens have taken to carrying three or four extra jars of mud just to help out when they see someone’s skin or clothes exposed.

Liz Brown was one such good citizen. Liz had always carried around so much mud that it wasn’t much out of the way for her to slather some on a friend in need. Not that Liz had many friends. Liz didn’t talk much. She hated talking to the people of Gruntings. She hated the news, the politics, the opinions of all those who dwelt within her town. Truthfully, the only people Liz ever talked to were the truck drivers who brought in supplies to the supermarket and the security drivers who routinely came to the bank where she worked. They weren’t Gruntingsites. They were from Elsewhere. And, to the people of Gruntings, the people from Elsewhere were about as unseemly and foreign as a slime-coated mucus-colored alien from one of Jupiter’s moons would be to us.

There was one driver in particular that Liz enjoyed talking to. His name was Manny. He drove the armored truck to the bank on Tuesdays. Liz liked the news he spoke of. She liked his opinions. When she asked him what his thoughts were on wearing masks everywhere (in Gruntings everyone had always worn masks because it helped their faces stay covered in mud while still being able to breathe but they now hated it because the government was making them do it). Instead of complaining or praising, Manny excitedly pulled out a yellow spotted mask that he was hand-sewing himself. The colors were bright and he said he liked how cheery he was going to look.

One day, Manny told Liz she looked pretty in her mud-suit because of how it made her eyes seem so bright. The next time he saw her, he talked to her about a library he’d visited once and said to her, “You should check it out. I think you’d love it, Liz.”

Liz could not stop thinking about Manny. Her thoughts were locked, completely stuck on the idea of visiting some huge, beautiful library outside Gruntings with Manny chatting to her the entire time.

Very soon, something strange began to happen. Pieces of mud would fall off of Liz randomly. Even when she stayed out of the wind. But stranger still was the places on her body exposed from the absence of mud would shine. Light, real, actual light would glow from her skin and clothes like a beacon.

At first, this scared Liz. Should she call her doctor? The internet had nothing to offer her that wasn’t the work of fiction. In fact, the only thing she found was this passage from an obscure article:

Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness. –Desmond Tutu 1931

The next Tuesday, everything was arranged. When Manny showed up at the bank, Liz went straight to him with per proposition. Her bags were packed.

“Manny,” she said, her eyes shining. “I’m leaving Gruntings.”

As she said it, all the mud dried, cracked, and fell off of her. Crumbles of it scattered all over the floor. The bankers and patrons all gasped in shock but the gasps were swallowed up by the noise of the wind outside.

No one was as shocked as Manny, who stared at Liz as she stood proud with her skin glowing radiantly.

“No one has ever left Gruntings,” was all he could think to say.

“That’s because no one can see the light through all of this darkness,” she said. “But I can because I have something these people refuse to feel. Hope.”

I wish I could report that Manny swept Liz up into his arms for a long romantic kiss and that they drove away together in his truck, through the clouds and out of the town forever. But it was not so. Manny, caught up in what he thought was nothing more than casual flirting, left Gruntings without saying another word to Liz.

Though it was disappointing, and left her more afraid than she’d ever felt before, Liz did not lose her shine. She hoisted up her bags and headed straight out of the bank, dropping her jars of mud in the trash can on her way. She walked right out of that town. She passed through the wind and the clouds and emerged completely whipped and weathered but perfectly, spotlessly, clean.