creative writing

Eyelids, heavy, slow, yet forced open. A crack in the curtains leaks light, slowly drowning the room. A push, sitting up, the room before you, white walls, burning bright where the light touches. Sliding the soft black duve off, now standing. Barefoot, fumbling your way through the room to a wardrobe, slipping your hands through the bars, ignoring the handle, then pull. Its open, met by a small assortment of shirts and jackets, greys, browns, blacks and whites blur together. Reaching in you pull out a random jacket and shirt, your fogginess is beginning to clear. Next is pants, you make your way across the room, steadier this time, set toward the drawers. Taking the handle, pulling and before you are pants, taking the top pair of dress pants, you slide them up your legs, the black fabric molding to your body. To the door, slipping brown leather shoes one you are ready, and the day awaits.

It is summer, the blinding sun holds the city in its hot embrace. You move away from the door, a trickle of newfound sweat finding its way to the earth. Endless towers grab at the sky, climbing higher as you move toward them. The glisten of the glass and sun, almost blinding. People pass, left and right, a blur as you mutually ignore each other’s existence. The bus stop, crowded, focused. A large man breathes heavily to your right, perhaps he had rushed to the stop? You pay him no mind. To your left, another man in a suit, like you, though better groomed. The bus pulls up, a cloud of dust close behind, that covers it, not losing its momentum. Its white, advertisements lining the sides.

A, hiss and the door opens. The crowd shuffles inward, desperate to get inside the, hopefully, air conditioned bus. Inside, cool, bliss. Finding a seat near the back you rest, letting the chilled air coat you. A stop, more people crowd onto the bus, a woman sits next to you, and another next to her, squishing you into the corner against the window. They immediately start chatting, as if the walk from the bus door to the seat was like plugging a leaking submarine. It was short lived, temporary. Another stop, your stop.Your squeeze past the two girls, trying to keep it from being awkward. Make it to the isle, and walk your way off the bus.

The sun is beginning to set, casting a orange glow across the city. Look, lethargic clouds stretch across the sky, casting mighty shadows, fighting against the dipping sunlight. The towers of glass begin to shift colors, trading gold for orange, orange for red, and red for a deep purple, and then black. The clouds fold and weave together, forming a thick blanket over the sky, smothering the remaining light. A light rain begins to fall, tickling your skin as it trickles its way to the ground. Rushing up the street, arms above the head, trying to protect your body from the wet bullets. Shelter, your destination, finally. You open the nearby door, wooden, and slightly wet, the handle cold in your hands. Your here.

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