Perspective B: Cities of Light

***Note: Although this post gives certain qualities similar to another student's Fiction short story, it is in no way, shape, or form, infringing upon his copyright. I would hope if he ever read it, he would be flattered I thought so highly of his work as to create a rendition.

I don't remember happiness. Or sadness. Even anger has lost it's savor. If it were possible to look forward to feeling, I would. But there has been no touch since the light left. Hands groping in the dark, I can scatter pebbles and dirt before me and sense a warmth radiating off the earth's surface from ages past. The oldest of the old people would talk about the burn of the object they called "sun", telling us children we were better without the sting left from exposure. They expected the bandage could cure the pain we felt from a wound of never having breathed "sun" warmth. Aris holds on to my ankle while I grip Pheo's. Our chain is similar to most connections in this world: we forge them out of fear of loss. Without the fear, we would have had no loss of anything. Not sun, not grass, not color.

WORK IN PROGRESS.