Children of the Earth

P  R  O  L  O  G  U  E

          Once the sun has set, the stars started climbing on the lonely horizon through their cosmic ladders, wiping away the clouds drenched in purple and magenta. And as the cottony fluffs cowered  out of sight, darkness greeted hello with an overwhelming presence; looming over the busy streets of New York City like an endless panorama that stretched for miles across the sky.

          A gust of the cold autumn wind whistled through the kiosks on the pavements, leaving a cold kiss on the cheeks of the vendors. It made its way straight through the trees, and stirred the crumpled leaves with a loud pitchy trail.

          The icy breath of the season left its mark, making known to everyone what was about to come; it was a week 'til Christmas Day. The temperature has certainly dropped to a significant figure, but  the snow seems to have been put to a delay. Evidently, dense clouds swarmed high above the heads of the nonchalant citizens that rushed past each other as though they were ants in a colony.

          The yearly 'Christmas Rush' was about to happen in a few days time, and Desireé Jeanpierre was going to watch them from above, as she did ever year. The girl with icy blonde hair that hung below her shoulders was about to watch from the same window pane at time, wishing for the same thing; "Get me out of here," she'll whisper. She'd hold her ivory palm against the stained glass and hope that she was down there to witness everything first-hand; the rush, the people, and the view from below. In all her years, never has she stepped out of the orphanage, unless you'd count the one time where the matron let her fetch the newspaper, and then the front page was accidentally blown away across the street; obviously she had to get it, so she scurried along and hurried back inside.

          Putting that aside; this year was going to be different. She wasn't going to be in an orphanage that had cracks in the cobblestone, with the building as old as the matron herself (or even older). For in the present, the young girl was covered in dust and dirt, having had run through the sombre alleys that trickled through the City that Never Sleeps like an endless maze.

          Dark red pusutles that they called blisters held a fetid odor, and seemed foreign to the palms of her feet; it hurt once she reached for it. Her eyes were now puffed; swollen from crying. But, her cheeks remained sunken somehow.

          The color from her face was drained; just the way her eyes stared at her own reflection made her look as if she was dead. Like a living corpse walking the streets, and finally settling down on the bridge of Central Park.  

          The bridge was like a Victorian confection reflected in the waters of the lake. They called it 'Bow Bridge'. Made with cast iron, and decorated with a classical Greek design, it was certainly something to remember the landmark by.

           I don't belong here, the young girl thought. People make films filled with inspiration and hope. And I do not have either of the two. She laughed halfheartedly to herself. And here I am, sitting on this beautiful structure, searching for refuge in a place like this. All I' m doing is ruining the scenery. 

          She couldn't decide whether what she did was worth it, or if she would regret soon. She just wanted to shut out the world. Shut out everyone and everything in it; including herself. She wanted to drop dead, let go, and be gone. At least when I'm dead, I wouldn't have to worry anymore, right? she told to herself, wishing that death would come for her.

          Her mind would not go to rest. The feeling of guilt inside her was eating her from the inside out. It was an internal turmoil that she couldn't seem to stop.