The Penny [Fiction] (25)

You are walking down the sidewalk in the shadow of the New York City skyline. If you bothered to care you could find the sun, the only hint a band of light at the top of the row of brownstones, you’d notice that it is trying to remind you of something. Everything is grey, lacking life, there is a distinct lack of spontaneity. All of these robots pass you. Blank stares or no stare at all. Everyone is plugged in.

Any other day you would join the herd, unknowingly, though today is different. Today she left you. That is when you distinctly remember that the color drained from the world.

She was so full of life. You suppose that you weren’t. You aren’t trying to analyze it. You don’t have the energy.

You kick an empty bottle along the sidewalk. The world is full of our trash. What’s the point? The bottle hits the foot of a passerby. They pull their eyes from the screen they were glued to only to give you the blackest of stares. You imagine a thick viscous tar of vitriol pouring from their mouth but instead they keep walking. You almost got excited.

Your feet carry you where you are going. Without thought. Why did she leave? I can’t help but think about it. She was perfect. Perfect curves, perfect smile, perfect, perfect, perfect. She was the only one you could share passion with and not get a blank stare back. It was too good to be true.

The copper circle meticulously placed in the front of the subway steps pulls you back to reality. The sun bounces off of its brilliant shiny surface. You blink. You stop. Would you have just fallen down the stairs if it hadn’t been there? Your heart is pounding. You pick up the penny.

It was on heads.


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