The cool October wind brushed the autumn leaves, making a sharp sound
in his ear. It was a simple wind that blew one second and left the next.
It was a beautiful sight, Michael thought to himself . It was such a
great feeling to see his house getting closer as he crossed the road.
Michael was getting excited at the prospect of placing his key in his
front door and the comforting crunch of the key turning in the lock as
the heavy door opened.
So comfortable with the notion he had just created for himself Michael
allowed his neck muscles to completely relax and his head slumped
towards the ground. His eyes closed tightly, unwilling to see his head
crash into the street, praying that the pain would not last long, if
at all. His eyes were jerked open by the fact that his chin had just
slammed into the ground and he laughed quietly to himself, realizing
that he would not be allowed to die that easily. He would have to make
more of an effort than just allowing his neck muscles to relax.
Michael focused on the street and actually began to admire it. Taking
in the splendor of the footpath, it's the simple things in life that
"Funny," he thought to himself. "People drive up and down this street
every day and do not even understand what they are driving on."
Michael did not quite understand what the meaning of the colour was,
he glanced back at the grey street again. This time it looked like
there were more speckled fragments of black than white.
The blackness of the street was of varying degrees, but it was still
black. The blackness had come from various sources such as oil stains
and small rocks, but its presence, as well as the lack of other
colours began to confuse Michael. He shook his head and raised his
fluttering hands to his forehead, in order to banish these insane
confusing thoughts from his mind, but sadly his efforts failed.
Michael faced the fact that he would have to again focus his attention
to the grey. With a heavy sigh he began to take the grey back into his
mind, and his soul. Michael became frantic as he began to search
wildly for a source of colour, some source of life, but his desperate
search came up negative. Tears formed in his green eyes and steadily
made their descent down his pale cheeks, leaving a salty trail of
misery. As gravity took over the tears fell from his face to the
ground, making a silent 'plop' on the street.
Michael felt disturbed as he saw the dark tarmac swallow up his tear,
leaving only a small round black mark as a sign of its existence.
Unable to watch the sight anymore he turned his head to the right, in
hope of some light relief. For a brief moment Michael's small hopes
lifted, triumphantly painted on the black tarmac where two, seemingly
unending, strong yellow lines. This sign of light on the bleak scene