Writer And The City
Written By, J. M. Lilin
The Writer stands tall above the city. She is on the highest point of the most elevated building in the area and she can see the farthest she’s ever seen before. She beams as she looks down at the people below her, hustling about as if they were a terribly immense and buzzing colony of ants. If only they could see how miniature they seemed from up here.
It is the last hour of the day and the Writer watches as the sun buries itself under ground for a peaceful and refreshing slumber. First comes the cool breeze, washing over the city like a wave. People start to shut off laptops and abandon their jobs to wait for another day. Taxis and cars honk their way through traffic until the silhouettes reach home and lights begin to be clicked on.
Spark after spark of electricity lights up the city. Hundreds and hundreds of bulbs of illuminations gleam until the entire city is glistering in the eyes of the Writer. She looks over the city and sees a large marble, the only glowing marble in the darkest room. Not even the stars are visible as the city shines its ray against the shadows.
The Writer feels the effect of exhaustion coming over herself, but she doesn’t even blink. She had waited so long to see this. The spectacle comes around the earlier hours of morning. The sparks of life and light begin to blink off. It was as if each set of windows was a set of soulful eyes of brightness and slowly, they were all beginning to fall asleep.
All shut off, the marble of a world is dark again. Shadows develop over the city but luckily, each silhouette down below was smart enough to have safely locked each window and door. The shadows knock, the shadows creak, but nobody stirs to let them in. The Writer stays hidden on top of the building until the shadows lurking by disappear.
Then the morning comes. The sun begins to rise. It rises and rises as if a string was being pulled every little bit until finally, the sun reaches the top. It warms the city and burns each individual shadow into ashes. Then the silhouettes begin to wake in their homes. They open each window soul, letting the welcoming, waking warmth of the sun into their hearts. Another night had passed, each hardship gone, and the day had started, something fresh and warm.
Each small silhouette now awoken, stretch out their arms with anticipation. They all peer out and with the shadows gone, they feel inspired to motivation. The Writer only watches, looking down at them as if they were small, but she knew along with all them, they may be small and the world large, but momentous things could be done, and they only had to try hard.
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