Only a lunatic would wander throughout the streets in the winter midnight chill. With temperatures plummeting below freezing, the only activity in the quiet town was the conglomerating of excited young adults that lay in drunken stupor on bar tables or stumbled off-beat to slurred pub songs, eager to live the night life that all youths fantasize about. Only a lunatic would wander throughout the streets in the winter midnight chill, yet here he was, a lone figure flitting past the dim yellow glow of worn-out streetlights. The cold was barely a trifling concern, for the bitter bite of something else took priority in his mind.
Soft footsteps padded across uneven concrete, carefully avoiding obvious chunks of shaky, unstable sidewalk. His nighttime habit remained uninterrupted, and each time the desolate streets looked emptier and emptier to him. Yet it was not empty of people, but empty of spirit. Grayscale, emotionless structures stretched far into the endless expanse of wispy clouds and glittering lights that far surpassed their human imitation of lightbulbs and LEDs. He longed for something more than the meaningless, shallow depths of modern life, an unachievable goal that poked and prodded at every waking thought.
The colors that swam before her retinas were blinding. Business and constant activity reached and tugged at her without cease until the after effects stuck to her like glue. She craved for balance, a grayscale addition to her world of hues that would tone down all that left her mind in a constant state of frenzy. She stepped out into the swirling maelstrom of blue that was the frozen night and sought escape from her storm of color. Heavy footsteps pounded across uneven concrete, uncaringly treading across obvious chunks of shaky, unstable sidewalk.
They passed each other on opposite sides of the street, and he could have sworn the unchanging landscape now contained just a sprinkling of blue hues. And as she continued to amble down her stretch of pavement, she thought that maybe the blinding colors that burned in her vision had become just a bit less overwhelming. In the winter midnight chill, two figures wandered throughout the streets, not to roam as lunatics, but to leave their insanity behind.
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ataraxia || original
Short Story(n.) A state of serene calmness. A collection of short originals written during sudden bouts of inspiration.