Tanmay and the Giant Storm Cloud

Tanmay leaned forward, his warm brown eyes squinting through the magnifying glass hanging from his neck. He was inspecting a line of ants marching across his bedroom floor, wondering how they knew exactly where to go. "Fascinating," he whispered, reaching into his cargo shorts for a pencil. He needed his discovery journal to sketch their path. He trotted over to his wooden toy chest and threw open the heavy lid. Instead of his notebook, a flash of purple lightning illuminated his face. Tanmay gasped. Floating just above his wooden blocks was a tiny, dark gray cloud, no bigger than a grapefruit. It crackled with miniature thunder that sounded like popping bubble wrap. The cloud pulsed with a soft, eerie glow, spinning rapidly. Suddenly, a gust of freezing wind shot out from the chest, blowing Tanmay's straight black hair straight up. The cloud zipped out of the chest, zapping his turquoise t-shirt with a tiny spark of static. It began zooming around the room, knocking books off shelves and whipping his bedsheets into a swirling tornado. Tanmay's room was instantly transformed into a wild, miniature weather disaster, and the cloud was growing bigger by the second.