A cool breeze ruffles my clothes. This is rare, there are far too many buildings here for frequent breezes. Buildings that reach up to the clouds. It is a good evening for a stroll, at least better than most. The cars that pass by are few. I know I should cherish this, there hardly is a day when this street isn't clogged up. I should be happy, without a care in the world, like the hoards of people around me. Yet I can't help but wish that I was someplace else.Someplace where I could see the setting sun. Now when I look up all I see is a gray haze. This haze, that I hate so much, seems to be suffocating me, trapping me under it. I hear someone telling me to move, and I step aside, I hadn't even realized that I had stopped. This gets me thinking of the people here. How many people cannot see past the end of their noes? How is it possible that so many billion people, some of whom live on this very street, are able to carry on with their daily lives, oblivious to the world around them? Just looking around I can see people hearing, but not listening. Speaking, but their words have no meaning. Selfishly obsessed about themselves.
Trees grow on either side of the road. Most seem isolated, not more than a couple together. Their green leaves stretch out around them, as if trying to seclude them from humanity. Their trunks are an ugly black, not their natural brown. The houses here seem to be a part of this, getting damaged along with the trees. I know better though. Most of the people who live in those houses care about nothing but themselves. There are dustbins every couple of feet. This should suggest that it is a clean place, but even now I can see a plastic bottle lying uselessly on the pavement. The sounds of traffic are loud, much to loud. The screech of tires, the yelling of impatient divers, and the horning of cars are overused, and they hammer the insides of my ear, threatening to burst my ear drums open. All this carries on day and night, causing a fair amount of people to have restless nights.
Even though I don't like this place very much, I know it's better than most. For that I am grateful. Smooth roads like the surface of a table. Even the few trees that grow here add their own bit of beauty. It's like the people here, though seemingly self centered, are not yet ready to give their lives completely over to the mechanic world
Feeling slightly better than before, I turn in to a creamy brown gate, and into a different world. A world where the trunks of all the many trees that grow here are a rich brown. A world where the sound of traffic doesn't touch the grass. A world full of cool breezes.
My home.
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Hey guys! Next week's is our class trip!! I'm sooooooo excited!
~daughter-of-nemesis
YOU ARE READING
Unspoken Words.
General FictionHighest Ranking #95 in General Fiction. A collection of stories and poems that I have written. Most of these I would never tell anyone about, except family, so this is the first time these are reaching other people's eyes, your eyes. I should pro...