30-Day Writing Challenge

Day 1 // Walk

'Take us through a written walk down your street and to your favorite place through the eyes of somebody else.'

I leave the compound to the sound of the rattling green gate as it closes behind me. The air tickles my senses, inspirational as it comes, full of creative spirit. Young voices shriek from the playground in front of me; Ready or not, here I come!  The playground, engulfed in between the bustle of people walking, jogging, cycling and the vastfully inviting ocean, is a haven, where I assume, lies the innocence of countless games of hide-and-seek. In front of me lies the opening shot of any generic coming-of-age film. 

The consequent scene to this supposed film lies to my right, where the giggles of in-love couples, giddy on alcohol they have only recently been legally permitted to consume circles the air, paired with the clinks of cutlery and annoyed rants of gambling men. A blue neon sign highlights the bar and restaurant, attracting a row of parked cars. 

It isn't until I hear a brief honk behind me that I realise I have been standing here for too long, soaking in the simplicity of life that circles around me. I turn left, brushing past the brown fur of a leashed dog, which I stupidly smile at. Apartment buildings line the road, each ant-like window containing a different tales of life...

I realise the description of this street walk thus far has been rather...what's the word...spiced up, in a way to make it seem way more deep and meaningful then it really is. In all honesty, this is the perfect example of repetitive architectural design, a street that in its same format can be found literally anywhere in the world.

Even still, I continue my tedious walk down this horrendously plain...

I stop short of an exhausted sigh. Despite my lack of attentiveness, overgrown weed in a front yard catches my eye, because it is a stark contrast to the otherwise clean cut lawns I've been walking past. When I mentioned the overgrown weed, I meant seriously tall, enough to look like a jungle. To be honest it probably is a jungle, hosting various species of snakes and other crawling creatures. If it wasn't painfully obvious, my knowledge on animals is quite limited.

Peaking above the grass is a roofless house. Well, not a house exactly. A rectangular structure with just four walls, covered in extravagant graffiti. I take a step closer, not daring to cross the fence. I'm not one to go on such adventures, especially not ones that involve very illegal activity, starting at trespassing and ending at...I don't even want to know where. The structure, though, is oddly compelling. 

It's broken down but doesn't seem abandoned. The state is such that it could be featured in a music video or a murder mystery, no in between. I get absorbed, once again, in a sort of trance, analysing the details of this astonishing abandonment. I'm disturbed by the sound of loud classical music, which I must admit is very juxtaposing to the sight in front of me. I turn around to see where its coming from.

A dark-skinned man rides his bicycle, a radio in his front basket and a white cockatoo propped between his handles. The hide-and-seek games at the playground pause in an instant and the children rush to him, joyously chanting 'Poppy, Poppy!'

The bird dances and bows its neck affectionately at the children, basking in its glory. Passer-bys on the walking track wave or say enthusiastic hello's to the cyclist and his pet. It becomes clear to me that Poppy and the cyclist are a local icon, although maybe more so Poppy, especially amidst the young. A smile whisks itself on my face at this display, a display that for sure is to be a core memory to a lot of the youngsters here.

I turn back to face the abandoned structure and my smile flies away with the wind. I breath deeply, inhaling the smell of freshly cut grass. I focus once again on the house, this time more carefully on the graffiti. Most of it is illegible, irrelevant and, mind you, very illegal. I try to find a phrase or at least a word that is understandable, but mostly my eyes are treated to explicit drawings of you-know-what. One phrase sticks out though, actually two, its just they look merged together. In red, block writing 'HELMET SMOKER' and in vibrant green, just a bit beneath it 'go sleep'.

Well folks, I would like to conclude by saying that this street was a relatively average street except for a cycling icon with a bird and a very creepy house, one that I dare not enter in my wildest dream, which has taught me an immensely valuable lesson: 'HELMET SMOKER, go sleep.'

PS: You should probably listen to the 'go sleep' part of that immensely valuable lesson.