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The View Right Now

"Even if I have no faith, I have to trust myself, 'Cause later when I become addicted to life...."

the-view-right-now

Drenched in rain, holding the umbrella neatly folded in its case, he trod along the sidewalk.

A bad day at work? A heartbreak?

He stopped as he reached a matchbox of a house, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped his face clean and ran his wet fingers across the slippery screen of the phone a few times. The door opened, a merry young child ran out. The man knelt down, letting himself melt in her embrace; smiling away his worries for the day.

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The parking lot bustled with people. The early risers looked on through the windows in the highrise, as the night owls ran with all their might. Their hair a mess, not bothering to put on the other half of their jackets. The ID's for which some run back to the car forgetting that it was already in their pockets. The one's at the window laughed, the one's running, wondered what they were so proud of.

Futile, is it? Or is it a sense of achievement?

Dragging their feet along, there always were the ones who came last and didn't bother. As if they'd given up on life itself, their unambitious gaze shifting from the ground to the people they pass by. Sometimes, a fake smile lighting up to greet them; otherwise a looming emptiness, like nothing matters at all.

Truly futile? Is it... life?

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The night time is always spectacular; as the stars are to the sky, the lights are to the earth; shining brightly, letting the darkness of the night rest. The group of friends that wobbled along, arms around each other, helping themselves to their destinations. The couples, hand in hand, walking through the boulevard with interesting stories to share. The trees that bless them with the pink light petals ascending to the ground, its journey to ruins, a mesmering sight to onlookers.

An inevitable destruction that brings on love and happiness. Is it necessary?

On the benches, the ones that kept their gaze straight, alone, in a world of their own. The loud music on their headphones distracting them from the apparent fun life of everyone around them. To whom, the falling petals are a mere showcasing of something inevitable and natural.

Whose view of life, is supposed to be right? Or is there no right way to live?

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As the thunderous clouds moved swiftly across the sky, with no drops to spare for a moment; the tiny whines of the little kids who had hoped for a day of sitting at home grew louder. The ones who had time to check the forecasting had their umbrellas and raincoats waiting in the car. Where the clouds had arrived, the wipers squeaked across the glass as the traffic moved, an inch at a time. The pitter-patter of the rain nulling the silence inside the cars.

Outside, there were the gloomy ones, the ones that took shelter in bus stations, the wet sides of their dresses annoying them; the frown becoming the highlight of their faces. They looked in awe at those that walked along past them, with wet hoodies, drenched sneakers and a headset on. And they walked on..

...with the weight of what was worrying them or with the hopes of a better destination....everyone walks on...

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© 2022 Rushali Prasad

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