New York City. It's quiet, now. Cool and grey beneath a cool grey sky. The rain smooths and blurs everything into a washed-out dream. People have floated away, up stairways and through front doors, shutting them behind them. The fog is too heavy, and the the air brings a creeping drowsiness into the veins of the city.
New York. The City that Never Sleeps. It's so quiet under the rain, so peaceful. But it never calms its sickened heartbeat because there is somehow pride in never sleeping, as though it is better to lie back, sedated with the muted rush of itself through the quiet rain, rather than living and quieting and letting life pass by without racing it miles past the finish.
There is nothing left for so many people in these dull grey streets and still, still they rush about as though there is no place more important to be than wherever they are going, and there is no time, no time to stop and breathe, to look at the sky, to to blink clear the dream and look around at all the people that are just as lost within themselves as anyone else.
Why do they pretend that there is nowhere to be but anywhere else?
Maybe it's easier for her to ask that, her voice filled with genuine confusion at the blur. Or maybe she could ask it indignantly, furious at the lack of appreciation people hold for the time they take for granted. She could say it, because of where she has been. She has the right to do so. She has paid dearly for that right.
YOU ARE READING
We'll Always Go On
FanfictionRose, living two years after the disaster of the Titanic, questions again if she must really keep living for a promise that already been broken.
