The Young Woman and You (the Drone)

Chapter 2

You're not sure where you're going or why but you follow the young woman. She slings a dark-grey messenger bag onto her shoulder and then sets off through the quiet, empty streets.

Straight away, as the silence wraps itself around your head, only the steps of the young woman echoing through your speakers, you're swallowed up by the need to say something. You know it isn't awkward. You already know you're not wanted. Talking is only going to make things worse, like always.

At least if you withdraw into your thoughts, you can minimize the damage.

While she turns her head this way and that, seemingly looking for something, you also look around, trying to distract yourself. You have no idea what it is she's looking for but...

You take a look at the grey brick buildings with their darkened windows. They're so small as if they were trying to take up as little space as possible and hide. It feels like they're trying to say, "Hey, I'm not here! Don't look at me! I don't exist!"

But of course people do. You take a look at the grey pavement, the cracks and dark green weeds still speaking to some kind of life even if that life is long gone by now. And as the drone keeps hovering across, ah- look here, isn't that a bit of light pink gum attached to a bit of pavement? It's recent- there are definitely people living in this town. You just can't see or hear them yet.

Looking up from the pavement, you squint at the grey and cloudy sky above, wondering if it's really just the storm that makes this town so melancholic.

Moving your gaze back to the young woman, who is striding along searchingly still, your eyes catch on a certain balcony. There, sitting rather lonely-looking, is a rubber plant that looks well-taken care of. Under the dim sunlight, its leaves are a dark green but there isn't a single tear or rot on any of it.

There are people for sure, but it's like they don't exist. They don't want to exist.

...The longer you look at this town, the more you can feel a dark cloud roiling at the bottom of your own stomach. It burns and seethes, bitter and cold, wanting to redirect its energy into something else. You struggle not to let it attack you. You understand a little better what she meant before.

You're also realizing that you never asked for her name. Oh geez, where are your manners? No wait, you already introduced yourself; where are hers?!

Up ahead, the sound of footsteps jars your attention from your thoughts. They don't belong to the young woman's; they sound in between her steps. The difference is easy to hear- hers are a steady, quick pace while the other's is softer and shuffling.

The streets aren't as empty as you thought as the two of you come across an older man with a thin beard and spots of grey in his hair. He ambles along without much purpose like he's taking a stroll.

As you watch the young woman step up and try to start a conversation, you notice the older man's eyes are dark and cloudy. His eyes read as unfocused, focused instead on thoughts that don't seem very happy. Closer up now, you hear-