21. Rose-tinted Glasses

It was a brisk morning. The light was still low, but stepping out the door she instantly felt awake. Pulling her favourite scarf higher around her neck, she slowly strolled down the cobblestone street.

By the time she got to town, the sun had risen. People were milling around in a weekend morning haze, quiet and lost in thought. She unhooked the latch of the gate and walked into the plaza, where many small tables were laid out in staggered lines, spilling over with ugly wedding gifts, scratchy sweaters, and dog-eared magazines.

She loved it.

Many a times she would go back out the gate with nothing in tow, but she always came back. Every single item was imbued with history, oftentimes ridiculous and rarely momentous, but she thought of it as a kind of place where all lost things went to be found. It became a lovely weekend morning routine, looking for something she hadn’t even realised she’d lost.

She flitted from table to table, making light conversation, picking up pieces and putting them down again. She ran her finger along a letter opener in the shape of a bird. She twiddled the dial of a transistor radio the same colour as her best friend’s eyes. She leafed through browning pages of an old craft magazine.

Somewhere along the way, she came across an old, vintage suitcase sitting upon the table. Laid inside the suitcase were what seemed to be the belongings of a flapper girl from the twenties. Soft, wispy shift dresses adorned with intricate beading that glittered in the sunlight. A string of pearls, a set of ruffled garters, and a pair of glasses.

Instantly taken with them, she picked them up, entranced by the gold art deco style frame. As the lenses caught the light, she realised the glasses were rose-tinted. She paid for them without hesitation, all the more charmed. Not bothering with the rest of the flea market, she left the plaza.

22. Catharsis

He leaned against the tall window of the bus, staring listlessly at the passing scenery. The sun was waning, and its warm glow suffused the view. Buildings were blanketed in gold and the trees were alit, harshly edged with bright orange, while the rest of the sky remained a clear blue.

His mind drifted to a girl he once knew, a girl who always had a bracelet of gold and scarlet thread around her wrist. She had said once that she loved sunsets, because she never left the office early enough to ever bathe in its warmth. She loved the way the setting sun felt on her skin, and loved how it painted the world with a sepia filter. The way the light would catch the side of her face... it made her feel like she was in a movie.

—-

He'd gone through the days and the weeks with his mind in a haze, drifting. The current pushed and pulled at him, but he remained still surrounded by the vast waters. There was nothing else in sight other than the huge expanse of sea and sky.

One day when night fell, everything was unimaginably dark. The horizon had blurred and he could no longer tell where the sea ended and the sky began. He looked up to see the night sky flooded with stars, like little pinpricks of light, interwoven with wisps of clouds.

He blinked once, twice, suddenly finding himself overcome with weariness. He’d lost count of the rise and fall of the sun a few cycles back; his mind idly wondered how he’d managed to stay sane for this long—though, he’d fathomed, given that his method of time keeping was entirely unreliable—it mightn’t have been very long at all.

It crossed his mind then, that perhaps drowning was simply a matter of practice, as it was with everything else; once he got used to it, submitted to it, even—it wouldn’t be so scary. The realisation brought him a startling clarity. His thoughts settled and his eyes fell shut with the weight of fatigue. He imagined drowning, noticing a vague sense of déjà vu. It gave him peace as he felt the slow burn in his lungs, radiating across his chest. It was over before he knew it. It was lovely, dark and deep, and it comforted him.