5.30

I stand upon dusty tiles, head bowed, back against a white-washed wall. All around me people walk, trudge, and move. All around me they scurry about their meaningless lives, filled with intent borne of desire, with purpose borne of fear. Chattering voices swim through the air, invading the sanctity of my ears, inane foolishness as if a miasma hovering in the air, as if a stench only I notice. I look down, strands of unkempt hair touching my shoulders; my watch rises into view before beady eyes. 5pm.

I leave my sanctuary, my haven in the corner. Slow footsteps reach my ears as my feet plod forward on unwashed tiles. My hand brushes against the red brick wall, a dash of its colour staining my white shirt sleeve. I walk into the crowd, moving in lockstep, as if I were an automaton, just like them, uncaring, unfeeling. Unliving.

I bump into a woman, cloaked within a brown overcoat, perfume streaming behind her as if in a parade. Her face is beautiful, features sharp, regal, yet distorted. Distorted beneath a contorted face, tears shattering the pristine beauty that once encapsulated it. She walks, almost runs forward, as if escaping, as if chasing. Behind her, a man. Arm outstretched he cries a strangled cry. Choking, he stumbles through the crowd, a puppet with its strings cut, amidst robots streaming past it. He tears past me, shouting, pleading, and begging for the woman to stop, to speak to him, to hear his sorrow, his words. She continues on.

I turn about, walk towards the kneeling man upon cold tiles. A hand stretches out from my body, placed before an anguished face. Eyes belonging to me swivel to his pitiful form, prostrate before me as if in obeisance. Or in surrender. “Get up. Continue. Don’t stop.” I haul the man to his feet. A brief moment, gazes lock. Eyes widen. I walk away.

I walk upon the dusty tiles. Thousands, millions of steps had made the same step as mine. Yet none exactly the same. The crowd jostles me as I walk, their rancid dank bodies clinging to me as we all trudge down the same path, down this forsaken, hollow road. A whistle blows in the stale air. I look down. 5.10pm.

I chance upon a family, still amidst the chaos. A son, almost an adult, roars in the face of those who control him. Dent upon metal, his fist taking the spot upon the nearby wall. His face is again contorted, as if all robots were capable of this feat. He lashes out, unkind, uncaring. Ruthless. He knows the way the world works. He knows what it is he has to do. He knows. And nobody else does.

I step forward. Swift retribution across a young face, unmarred by violence, yet scarred by hatred. Shock. Pain. Betrayal. Eyes lock, realization dawns. Hate gives way to shame. Head is hung, low as if alien to the body. A hand reaches out, again mine. Lifts his head up. “Don’t fall.” I walk away.

I walk upon the dusty tiles. The scarecrows about me have increased, each stepping in unison, a legion of hollow men. Shouts and cries farewells and goodbyes. None I see. I see only people, if they can be called people, walking forward, unknowing of where they go, uncaring of what they reach. Blindly one follows the other. Blindly, the madman leads the way. I look down. 5.20pm.

I gaze upon two men. Facsimiles of smiles plastered across stony faces, they face one another, cold right hands clasped together. An insincere promise, a forgotten pledge. Never shall it fade. Same time, same place. Yet different people. Memories escape around them, nostalgia slinking away beaten and defeated. Change and entropy instead lie as if a wall between them, unmoving. Unable to move.

I stand still. A third hand joins their embrace. Grip hard, hand warm. Frozen smiles give way to warm tears, the joining of hands turns to embrace. Hearts burn, false happiness fades, yet true happiness reigns eternal. Memories lock, they are immortal. Two hands upon their shoulders. “Don’t forget.” I walk away.

I walk upon the dusty tiles. They end. One foot rises above the other, I find myself in someplace alien yet familiar. My hands reach out towards well-worn insignias, protrusions aboard smooth panels beckoning to me. I look down.

“Don’t go.”

A corner of my lip twitches, almost as if to smile, almost as if to cry. Curving words inscribed upon faded gold stare back at me, beneath uncaring clock-hands. My hand wipes the wetness from the glass. I look up. A man and woman, clasped in eternal embrace, unmoving upon a platform of movement. A family, crying, holds one another amidst the darkness, their weak lights shining bright in a single brilliant glow. Two men, no longer smiling, but crying, shoulders against the other, foreheads locking as they give the other an eternal life.

They do not go where I go.

5.30pm. Time to go.