#week 42

Week 42, day 6 (day 300 in total)

Serious Eats

She dreamed of becoming a writer; me with saving the planet.

The leaves on the trees have already begun to change colour—last chance to survive another winter. Red, yellow, and orange paint the landscape with warm tones, colours culturally associated with passion and that bring to mind the memory of fire. However, they contrast with the clothing of the people who walk beneath them—greyish, neutral colours, and some black as well.

It's funny, I think as I walk through the city streets at night, how imperceptible all these colours are. The trees, illuminated only by the stars and the artificial light from streetlights and passing cars, are nothing more than skeletons—dead bodies swayed by the wind, which occasionally makes the dry leaves on the ground rattle as they are dragged along.

The night, or rather, the complete absence of natural light—sunlight that takes almost eight minutes to reach our planet—cancels out the seasons, almost as if the Earth had stopped rotating around the sun, jealous of the importance we give to that fireball. Without light, the trees remain static, and—if one tries hard enough to dissociate from reality—one can imagine that it is still summer, or even spring.

While walking through the quiet and dark streets of the city, I call my friend on the phone. Why? You may ask. Honestly, for no particular reason. Perhaps to not feel so alone, perhaps because I am walking through an area that is too dark and silent—as if my conversation could prevent me from danger or something like that—or perhaps to ignore the darkest and most disastrous thoughts of my exhausted mind, which, in a way, seems to be preparing for the arrival of winter. You see, the absence of light—short days and grey skies—induces my mind into complete apathy, making it more susceptible to sad, sticky thoughts like tar, permeating my grey matter, enclosed in a bone cage. And, you see, I like it, I like feeling miserable in a way, I embrace it.

Our conversation revolves around catching up, discussing life and our problems—without getting too philosophical, neither she nor I are that pedantic. There's not much we can really do for each other and we soon realise that we are doomed to repeat the same mistakes—or steps, if you don't want me to be catastrophic—of our parents. And we realise, as we talk, how adulthood has gradually erased our innocence, our enthusiasm, our desire to build a bright future—like the light of the sun. Or perhaps we have woken up from the dormancy that late capitalism submerged us in, and only now do we realise what a shitty world we live in—maybe we just took the wrong pill.

You can reblog this post and do em all now, save 'em and find 'em as you have the energy/time, or just use it as a heads up for what's comin'.

Up to you!

All I ask is that you use the #sipofsnips tag so people can find each other's snips and get excited about writing.

Here we go, the answer to life, the universe, and everything. Apparently it's this trope prompt: Forced proximity.

Week 42 is nearly over ... how did you guys do this week?

I Posted Blood Moon - I wrote 520