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Gust was not like the other clouds. While his fluffy brethren drifted lazily, showering the earth with sensible rain, Gust scowled and grumbled, producing only glitter. He tried to be a proper raincloud, he really did. He’d puff himself up, gather his moisture, and then… poof! A shimmering cascade of iridescent sparkle would descend, much to the delight of the children below and the utter exasperation of the farmers.

“My turnips are sparkling!” Farmer Giles would shout, shaking his fist at the sky. “They’re not growing, they’re glittering!”

Gust would sigh, a tiny puff of golden dust escaping his fluffy side. He wanted to help, but his sparkle just wouldn’t quit. Determined to find a solution, Gust floated across the vast sky, seeking advice from older, wiser clouds. He met Cumulonimbus, the great thundercloud, who rumbled with authority.

“Perhaps you’re not meant to be like us,” Cumulonimbus said thoughtfully, his voice like distant drums. “Maybe your sparkle holds a purpose you haven’t discovered yet.”

Gust pondered this, but his disappointment lingered like a gray shadow. One day, a grand parade was planned in the town below. The mayor, a very serious man who believed glitter was “highly unprofessional,” had declared a strict “no sparkle” zone. Posters were plastered everywhere: No Sparkle Allowed! Gust overheard this and felt a pang of guilt. Determined to finally fit in, he tried his absolute hardest to produce plain water. He squeezed, he puffed, he concentrated until his edges turned slightly purple.

The parade began with vibrant floats, colorful banners, and a marching band dressed in crisp uniforms. The mayor, resplendent in his top hat, led the way, his stern expression unwavering. Just as the marching band struck up their loudest tune, Gust felt a rumble. “This is it!” he thought, “Proper rain!”

But instead, a magnificent, shimmering downpour of sapphire-blue glitter showered the entire parade. The mayor’s top hat sparkled like a disco ball, the marching band looked like a group of living constellations, and the town’s prize-winning pig, Percy, was transformed into a dazzling, oinking masterpiece.

Initially, there was shock. The band missed a few beats, and the mayor froze mid-stride, his face a picture of disbelief. Then came a ripple of giggles from the children lining the streets. The giggles grew into hearty laughter, spreading through the crowd like wildfire. Children danced joyfully in the sparkling streets, catching handfuls of glitter and tossing it into the air, creating rainbows of shimmering delight.

Even the mayor, after a moment of stunned silence, found himself chuckling as he caught sight of his reflection in a shop window—his stern expression made comically ridiculous by the glittering spectacle atop his head. Percy the pig, it turned out, rather enjoyed being a glitter-pig, strutting proudly with a sparkle in his trot.

From that day on, Gust was still grumpy, but he was also the most popular cloud in the sky. His glittery rain wasn’t a problem; it was pure magic. Farmers found ways to protect their crops with colorful umbrellas, turning their fields into vibrant patchworks. The town even hosted an annual “Glitter Festival” in Gust’s honor, where everyone celebrated the joy his unique rain brought. Gust floated above, watching with a gruff smile, proud to be exactly who he was—glitter and all.