Winter, the lifeless mocker of loss.
The houses all stare at starry skies. An assortment of flats, townhouses and apartments embellish the street. In the midst stands like a lone ranger a deserted warehouse. Sub-streets branch out like tributaries, comparable to veins in a human body.
Listen to the hearts beating as one. Listen to the hearts that race, that hurts, that bleeds. Close your eyes, be still and listen. Listen.
Heed to the trees talking tall, the neighbours’ voices blaring though walls. Hear the dogs and cats that play games of murder. Listen to the tenderness of an infant sucking on a dummy. Welcome the mother’s delicate croon for the infant to go to sleep. Wait and listen. Wait for the baby to drift away in ecstasy.
Observe the street as it falls fast asleep. Listen to the death that night has carried to the street. Eavesdrop on the husbands’ snore; the wives’ silent weep about her pain and the children drifting into a world of fantasy, a world where limits and boundaries don’t exist. The young boys’ dream hungrily of a world of battles, battles for victories while the girls’ dream of how they imagine love to be. How they think love feels and how it appears. But only you know how love feels.
Look at the glorious colours and faded yellows that adorn gardens in the random. Only an avid gardener can see and hear the birds twitter amid the clatter of noises made by the intrusion of a reckless hoon. See the polluted dust rain over fairies pirouetting in the moonlight. The moonlight is the only light physically ominous feature in the swallowedbydarkness street.
Peer out the window. A single woman living in a house receiving streams of male visitors cause gossip wondering what’s up. Speculate that other building, the one with varnished doors and veneered brick walls. See the personalities being exhibited on sleeves and faces. It’s personalities that tangles between violence and brawls, fights that snatch attention.
The caged doors hold secrets and fears. Fears of rejection, dejection and imperfections. The windows conceal other’s hidden pain. Houses are the only safe-deposit boxes of the street. Yet, though it must always be darkest before the dawn, light can be lit even in the darkest of places. Because, let me warn you that magic is not just in fairy tales…
Take control of the night, because you have the supremacy to do anything.
Nathan Nguyen Year 9