The sky sighs rain onto asphalt and steel.

The distant applause of passing cars celebrate mushrooming umbrellas which sprout from office doorways and wander into the urbane urban stream seeking nourishment.

There is a flash, and the sky bellows and roars.

It briefly drowns out the mumbling of vehicles dressed in desaturated afternoon colors.

It catches voguing shadows for a moment, then releases them, allowing them to dissolve back into the congregation of diffused hues.

Slowly, the roar settles back into a sigh.

I sit by the window, working, distracted by the ghostly memories that gather like moths pressed against the dusty panes of my office, sniffing at the heavy, damp air.

They sit there, though barely visible, they are outlined in a faerie fire of coruscating regrets that glimmer and flare as they reflect the dove grey clouds.

I admire them for what they could have been as I watch them shuffle about, pretending to be spry, good old days, though they can hardly bear their own weight and are quickly exhausted.

Inhaling, with a tightness in my throat and a sob in my chest, I call them back. The rain agitates them when they should be sleeping.

With mewling protest, they slink back, pass through the small door I hold open for them, and they settle back into their beds.
I kiss them sweetly as I draw yesterday’s heavy blanket over them and sing them tomorrow’s lullaby.

I return to my work, my vision occasionally obscured by fading promises and old laughter that wells in the corners of my eyes and trickles down my cheek.

A deep breath brings back some color to the world, and the clacking of keys becomes the mantra of moving through.


Allen Turner

Writer, Storyteller, Game designer, Teacher, Dad, Table-top RPG geek. I'm just a dude who likes to share my wild imaginings. Follow me on Twitter @CouncilOfFools

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