Day: January 8, 2024

Hundreds of thousands of critters began their voyage, not one of pilgrimage but of conventionality; routine. They tread slowly, begrudgingly, towards their destination, knowing full well what awaits them. They skitter and scamper, brushing past one another, not unaware of one another but uncaring towards any purpose and ambition they may hold, for rapacity overpowers any compassion still held.

Hastily they scuttle, hiding from daylight beneath arched stone. This was not solace, however. Basking in the sun was respite for these enervated labourers. They instead shambled upwards the spire erected of rock and glass, reaching whichever wretched sector they were designated, assigned for the exclusive purpose of their toil. The window that overlooked similarly functioning structures was befouled this morn. No doubt attributed to rainfall last night. The downpour that took place made the young night forlorn, and no one dared venture out. No petrichor danced through the air, because of grass being replaced for asphalt motorways. Illuminating the drudgers’ work were cages of halogens, haloed in a sickly flaxen glow. They were an insufferable attempt to recreate the glorious shine from the world outside, but did so in such a cruel manner. The fluorescent bars also provided a complimentary hum, ceaseless and maddening. But not towards those ensnared within these walls. For the tone hum harmonised with the resonance in their heads; the buzz of thoughts that occupied the interludes between their labour. But they never drew any poignant conclusions. Those who dare to contemplate the finality of their past will be met with imminent consequences of their actions, those who dare to peer forward into fate shall reveal destiny’s cascade; an interminable casual nexus. This paradox obscures those free moments, vieling the path of the present, leaving the mind to drift forever fretting. One worker, whose mind racked the dilemma, caught a flash of orange through glass. They turned to face it, observing the bulky mechanical arm shift outside. He watched the crane shift outside, its components shuddering with age. The roads below were forbidden to travel through, sectioned off with vibrant tape. The worker turned left, and noticed an empty cubicle. They thought nothing of it, after all, why should they spend the effort to connect concepts?

This turn of events was particularly irksome. Why would it be today, the day of his meeting? No mither, he’d just take a detour. He considered slinking past the intensely coloured warning tape, but the crumbling walls and giant machined colossi quickly halted the plan from reaching fruition. He only had walked these alternate roads a handful of times, so the signs that danced with scintillation and inscribed with memorable slogans were still so foreign to him. A cafe buzzed, fragments of conversation leaking through the opened glass windows. A single line resounded in his ears, reminding him of what strife was to come. Something as innocuous as “…Sales are up this quarter…” engendered a recrudescence to his predicament. He couldn’t even recall what he did the night prior, for the stress of tomorrow suffused over him. Would this be the transgression that cost his job? As he contemplated, or rather, fretted fruitlessly, something stirred from deep within its metal prison, preparing for its duty so decisively.

The dough broiled under the heat of the coils. It soaked up the delicious warmth, its buttery skin changed by a golden brown proliferation. As the vermin that crept inside its cavernous body feasted, they inflated the dough’s flesh, growing to a particularly piquant puffed body. The dough exhaled, releasing an appetising scent to be carried by a breeze. It swept the flavourful fragrance up, and out through the ajar window. Dancing through the bustling air of the streets, it carelessly wandered towards the man late for work, carrying the esse of the delicious baked good. The man caught the scent, and was ripped from the dichotomy that vexed him. He was taken to the days of his childhood; the warm feeling of his mothers smile; the delicious smell of golden-brown buns singing a song of allure from an oven. Grandma’s windchimes harmonizing with the splendid song of blue birds outside; the petrichor of the lemongrass wafting through the cedar porch. It was profound, formed of bliss and vigour, only for the memory to be blown away in an instant. It- It was gone. Wisped away. But the profound nostalgia still remained. He remembered his idyllic childhood, eating dinner with his family, and his mother’s smile. Where had it all gone? Flooding forth from the recesses of his heart, came a longing for eras bygone. The feeling burgeoned, educing an ardent flame of a wish. To relive the past. Would he forever suffer, due to the sisyphean nature of his dream?

Then, at that moment, he had solved the enigma that plagued many before him. A solution for him, at the very least. The past is gone; indelibly elapsed. It was difficult not to be enamoured by its beauty, but it’s gone. The only option was to make tomorrow as sublime as the past. But how could he achieve such a feat, how can he mold the future? The answer was simple. Focus on what he could control, the present. To make the future as wonderful as the past, he would build the present.

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