Crimson

He sees her, just ahead.  The rain continues to pour down.  The fog slowly emerges on the cobblestone streets.  The window shops reflect the image he keeps seeing, the image he traces with each foot step forward.  Her reflection gets distorted with every window pane.  It shatters in the broken glass of an old soap shop.  It dances across the mirrors in the old artistry shop window.  It glides by on the smooth glass of every nearby car and fades into the darkness of the dingy abandoned shop windows.  The world seems to be in a grayscale to him, everything black and white.  Everything dull and without light.  Except her umbrella.  It shines in the lack of light.  It’s reflection on the sidewalk below oozes with colour.  It’s transparency lets the light through it, creating the brightest of shadows on the dullest of days.  She holds it close, as if afraid a drop of rain might somehow get past it and onto her black clothing.  Onto her skin.  They’ve walked a good two blocks by now, the time passing slowly.  He checks his watch after getting a glimpse of the town clock tower in the distance.  He’s late for work again.  He’s walked past it again.  He’s walked past his work.  For a minute he keeps trailing her though.  The crimson reflection of her umbrella continually catching his eye.  Quickly he turns around, as if to have had a wall placed suddenly in front of him.  He has to get to work.  The colour slowly fades into the distance as they now walk in the opposite directions.  The streets dull colours wait to be painted with life.


-KS 


:)