Streetlight

1

Droplets are falling on the streets, echoing together, forming a gentle, calming melody. Each drop of rain so quiet to the point where they'd be almost unnoticeable to a distracted mind.

Grey is the only visible color in the sky, and yet it feels weirdly serene. The view is somewhat blurry, even dreamy. Despite the usual ideas people have about that sort of weather, it's indubitably peaceful. Is this... reality?

Birds are hiding between the branches of the park's trees, to find warmth, warmth both from their improvised shelters, but also from those of their own kind. It's best to stay close to others during storms, of any sort, after all.

But there is a single streetlight. Lonely, old, ignored by all, frozen, and even soaked from the rain. The only times it was ever touched were when it was built, or when the wind would occasionally ruffle the leaves from trees nearby, or even by some kids who thought it was a good idea to climb on the streetlight, eventually falling or being picked up by their parents.

A true storyteller, isn't it?

All the streetlight ever did was stay there, gleaming with light when the right impulses came or when it was required, even flickering from time to time. The flickering, weirdly enough, usually happened while events would take place below that weird light source, but it could simply be a coincidence. Maybe there was a pattern, a clock of sorts, or a broken sensor. Who can tell? Not many are interested.

Still, it was a good excuse to make up urban legends, for those who knew.

The streetlight had to witness a lot of different people in its life. It had seen them all.

If it had a life, it would probably feel annoyed most of the time. Not because it would simply hate people for no reason, but because it would be envious over the fact that they could move and it couldn't. It would have to live its whole life just standing, getting electrified and being ignored by everyone, because streetlights are too common to receive attention from anyone.

Not like there was much to do about it.

A buzz starts to echo. A flicker follows soon after. It is on now. Its light barely gets to the sidewalk on which the streetlight is standing on, seeing how the rain and the humidity make the atmosphere sort of foggy. Yet some light still manages to get to a small puddle that just so happened to form below that tall presence. The puddle is now reflecting some of the light back, but only a simple feeble flash. Then the streetlight is off again.

It gets back to the way it was before, to that greyish, turquoise-tinted mist filling every corner of the park, and its surroundings. It's back to the sound of water drops hitting each leaf on every single plant, the steel of the streetlight and the concrete that makes up each street. Other than that, nothing else, not a human soul to be seen, since most were probably home, drinking a hot chocolate under their warm, soft covers.

Alone, again. It is always like that for the lonely, cold streetlight.

Or most of the time, at least.