like a bullet. In and out. A clean puncture. Sometimes they would settle in like a fever. An infection. Sometimes they mutated and morphed into a cancer. A mood can kill you if you let it, I thought. Good thing I was already dead. Trudging down the alley I knew that today was a bad day. I still had them, and they happened more and more. I listened to the gurgling chorus of squished gravel, knowing it was not my feet making the sound. Someone was walking behind me, shoes puncturing the ground, taking every step for granted. They didn’t notice their contribution; they were unaware of what they were putting out into the universe, ignorant to the ripples they were making. I no longer made ripples. And that, I had come to realize, did bother me. I had explored every nook and cranny of this sandstone city. I knew all the corners of its heart and every facet of its soul. But I made no impression. I played no part in it, not really. I wasn’t a part of anything, I was just there. That was why I stayed, why I never left this place. I could no longer bear the feeling of new discovery without, in turn, being discovered. To explore a new place without mutual inspection, to embark on a new adventure and share it with no one. I was surrounded by millions of people, billions of 10 |
Kelsey Collins
