A blaze in the Southern Sky

More creative writing

I’m perched here in what feels like an ivory tower, looking south towards skyscrapers piled haphazardly along the horizon. They congregate in a big mass downtown and then ripple out on either side. That big mass is where the action’s at. I feel like I could touch it if I reached far enough. But beneath my feet there’s nothing happening. All the lights in the cul de sac are off. There’s no motion besides a few cars travelling slowly down the artery road that divides the neighborhood from the sprawling light pollution dotting the skyline.

This is home now. Away from the bustle of the downtown streets. Away from the ripped backsides of brick buildings, covered in spray paint and dirt. Away from the constant stream of cars along the Gardiner expressway, mere feet from the balcony of my girlfriend’s glass box. Away from the throngs of people in the streets, walking quickly, oblivious to anything but thoughts of what awaits at their next destination. Just far enough from the light which never seems to shut off.

There’s darkness under my feet. Below me are the oblivious people from the downtown streets, asleep at their final destination. Then there’s the people who don’t get downtown at all. Those who look at that big bright mass on the horizon and probably feel some resentment. Chewed up and spit out from the action, the noise, the footsteps. They rest their eyes on the dark quiet pockets when they look at the southern skyline. They probably don’t look south very much at all. They’ve moved past it. Their universe is expanding outward, waves rippling lower and lower as they move away from the city. They’re looking for the darkness of a soft, still night. One illuminated by stars instead of streetlights — away from the deafening rumble of the highway they’re leaving town on.

Summer days burn brighter on black asphalt. Shade and breeze are hard to find on city streets. Away from here, the grass smells sweet and the air breathes deeper. Here the grass is dead and dusty from the road. Car headlights stare sternly at the people walking, who feel the heat from the engines in their hair and hear the rumbling in their ears.

There’s nothing worse than a rainy day in the city. Elsewhere, the rain cools the sun, it brings the trees to life with the sound of rustling leaves. Here’s it’s nothing more than wet shoes on slippery tiles and squeaky windshields in traffic jams. Rain brings life everywhere else. Here, life stops.

The skyline forever beams bright like a beacon at night. It’s a light for lost moths, coming out of lonely suburban closets, ready to destroy their best clothes. They’re primed to lose themselves in the allure of the unknown. They crave dopamine from sources yet-to-be-revealed. The light draws them from their natural habitat and into a whirlwind of oblivion. They walk the streets, in throngs of people they don’t know, searching for a glimmer of light in every destination. When they can’t find it, when their receptors have burned out, when they’re dusty from the street and short of breath from the dead grass, when their shoes are wet and squeaky from the rain, they retreat. Slowly, they fall back to darkness. They turn away from the light to chase ghosts in the dark pockets of the sky.

Further out, in towns full of people who will mostly never come here, all that’s left of the skyline is a haze of light pollution. The southern sky is just a bit brighter than the starry dots in the north. The highways through town take traffic both directions. Some feel the buzz of a brighter future, others, the darkness of a dusty past.