20.X
It
was late, the kind of late that made you think about death and what you were doing with your life, horrible things passing in rapid succession over your tired retina. Everything seemed muffled, the only sound loud enough to pierce the veil being the one of heels clip-clopping on the asphalt, a darkened shadow added to the ones already creeping along the pavement. One, two, three... Counting the streetlights kept her mind occupied. She was thinking, the logical thing to do given the hour and the place. She thought about things. And
about life. And about how the wires looked like
spider-webs... one giant spider-web of electricity, expanding over the city,
catching fireflies in its insulated trap. Some of them flickered, others were out, but all went in her countdown. Fifteen, sixteen... She rather liked the dark patches of the road. The flickering ones just made her uneasy.
The night air tasted like smooth silk, yet felt crisp and rough against her skin. The
moon was round and orange and big and giving off so much light the shadows
looked like creeping giants, with long arms and long legs and elongated
rooftops that punctured the sidewalk. Everything was perfect and beautiful and so
unlike the day.
I hate daytime, she thought, taking
another deep breath. Sunlight is just so
aggressive. But the moon – the moon is tender and soft and pale. It’s like it’s
made of bones; pretty bones in the sky. She exhaled loudly, seeing the
breath flee from her warm body. I can
never have that back... She gazed pensively at the sky. It was slightly
overcast, an improvement from yesterday’s May-like weather. She didn't like
warm weather. Then again, she didn't like many things, Spring and Summer and clear
skies being just a few of the many.
The
city was always so silent during such tired hours. Everybody was probably
sleeping or having that last drink at the club, or maybe watching just another
episode of that show before going to bed. She wondered what it would be like to
have another life. A more exciting one. A
life in which things happened. In
which she could walk home at night and maybe see a stray shadow leaned against
the wall, with just enough electric light to see that the shadow belonged to a
beautiful, pale man. He would seem sad. She would slow her pace and accelerate
her pulse. He would look at her with impossibly clear and sharp eyes, every
shade of green perfectly defined as if painted on. She would part her lips, hot
air coming out in rasps. He would then decide he loves her.
But
that was just a silly scenario never to be played out, and she was just a stupid teenager with nothing better to do but count lights on her way home.
Or
was it?
A car passed by, leaving just a faint smell of gasoline behind it. She loved the
smell of gasoline; it was a reminder of her childhood, when going to the
gas-station was synonymous to going on a road-trip. A reminder of easier, better days.
Then,
when turning left on 5th street, she started believing in miracles.
In providence. In something bigger than her, floating in space and reading her
mind like her brother sometimes did with her diary. But her brother never made
her wishes come true.
All it takes is a ‘hi’. Breathe.
She took a deep
breath, overfilling her lungs to the point of breaking them at the seams.
Stuttering, she managed to whisper something. He looked up from the spot on the
sidewalk he was fixing with his muddy green eyes and focused on hers,
which were now shining with the light of the moon.
‘Sorry,
did you say something?’ he asked, his voice as crisp as the air around them.
‘No,
you must have me confused with someone else.’ Play it cool. Play. It. Cool.
He looked
around with great aplomb and finally declared, peevishly: ‘but we’re all alone.’
We’re all alone...
‘Yeah, I guess
you got that right.’ I am all
alone. We all are. We’re all very lonely, very sad people, who are waiting for
their time to be given to someone else. And then... then we disappear. Just
like that.
‘Are you even
listening to me?’
‘Sorry,
did you say something?’
‘I
might have, but you were too busy to pay any attention. Now you’ll never know
what I said.’ He playfully crossed his arms.
‘Maybe
you’ll tell me tomorrow. Same time, same place?’
He
regarded her for a moment, then nodded firmly.
When
she got home that night, she knew everything was going to be okay. Someone,
somewhere, heard her thoughts. Her birthday wish was granted.
*************************************************************
‘What
is wrong with May-weather anyway?’
the 3rd of May asked, directing the question to nobody in
particular. It was October himself who answered:
‘My
children were not created to love the rude heat of the sun or enjoy the
dreadfully clear skies of summertime. But as it is my month, I will kindly ask you to inform your patron to stop
messing with the weather. Or, by the Twelve Moons, I will come there myself and
it shall not be pleasant.’
October
was a grumpy old deity, in love with falling leaves. His throne was an old tree
trunk, carved by time. His scepter could ooze out three types of clouds. His
favourite colour was old yellow and he was in a love-hate relationship with the
beautiful May. He loved all his children equally, and hated having to replace
them. Especially that odd suicidal boy that had the most peculiar ideas about
how he should end his own life. Alas, Seventeen did a splendid job out of
keeping him alive.
October’s
murderous thoughts towards his lovely nemesis were interrupted by Twenty, who
was rushing to report another successful Birthday wish granting.
The
rank of a certain deity, you see, was established by the number of successful
Birthday wishes granted in its respective Month.
‘Perfect,’
October rubbed his aged hands. ‘One more and we’re in the lead.’
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