Short Stories

The Cities Constants

                               The Cities Constants

Everyone was walking fast, too fast, stepping over the cracks in the sidewalk and uncaringly tossing priceless gifts in their bags as if it was junk that would burn their rich fingers. They were inconstant, and moved with purpose. The purpose that changed every couple minutes and their pace that goes from one two one two one into one one one one one two.

They moved with one purpose. They were constant. Their pace never strayed from the despondent one... two... one.. Two... even while being shoved around, even if they are priceless gifts. They don't speak among the rabble around, the screeching cars that are also inconstant. They were the only constants in the world.

All constants must stop, and as soon as they went to the top, they stopped, breaking their easy pace of one two one two one two and shot down, like a bullet. It was so different from the white picket fence. Nobody could breathe, and this is the only time they were constant. They stopped, everyone's pace going from rushed to a stop. Then, they ran, all sense of constants stopped.