Reflections - a Short Fiction Anthology

Dark City, Empty Man

A man walks in the city at night. It's raining. It's cold - the season is unclear. There are no plants. Skyscrapers tower over the streets, some windows have their lights on. The streets are empty. He walks to a small square, a small area of just concrete paving. On each side, there is a wooden bench. The area is lit with warm lights, street lamps. The light feels artificial. It attempts to be warm and inviting, but in truth it is still cold and empty.

He sits on the bench. The silence is almost oppressive now. He can hear blood pounding in his ears.

"Hey man, can I talk to you for a sec?"

He turns around. There is another person here. He is not tall or short, but he is very thin. He wears multiple layers of clothing, but is drenched. He holds his left hand in the inside pocket of his jacket. He is a vagrant.

"Okay," the man says. The newcomer is like the lights surrounding the empty square. He takes a small pouch from his pocket, and says: "Xannies and oxies. 50 dollars, 10 pills."

The man gives him money, and receives the small plastic bag. The vagrant, before leaving, says: 

"Hey, there's a party on 3rd street - no reason to stay in the rain, you get me?"

The man does not reply. The vagrant walks away. The lights are still cold.

He takes a pill and pockets the rest, and starts making his way to 3rd street.

He blinks, and is walking on a street now. There are cars parked on both sides. To the right, a movie theatre. He squints but can't make out the name. Ahead, there are manhole covers, and steam rises through them. There are people on the street. Some walk past him. Others talk. Two men embrace. One of them walks around a car and sits in the driver's seat. He closes the door, and leaves.

They're all like the lights.

A soft drowsiness washes over him. The world feels muffled, somehow. He stands still, and listens. Earlier, the rain hitting his coat made sharp, loud sounds. Now it sounds softer, like cotton. The lights blur together. He blinks, and they separate, and soon begin to collide again.

He is at the club again. There are lights, loud music, both muffled somehow, like there was a blanket wrapped around his senses. Some people stare at him. He dodges their eyes and tries to look ahead. People are talking. They all talk. The pills shroud his senses.

He blinks. He is outside again. His legs hurt. The city whispers quietly. There is a familiarity to his surroundings.  It is still cold. Only the lights remain. The man walks away.