Filthy people
slowly inch across the street like great, fat salmon fighting upstream against the most powerful current. Dark,
gothic skyscrapers loom overhead on either side of the slime filled road as
though tall river reeds shot up from underneath smooth, grey pebbles. But the
air smells of salty seas belonging to my homeland, far away, not forgotten but
barely remembered. I can nearly feel the sweet touch of cool, refreshing spray droplets tickling my nose. I miss my home. My mother told me I would,
but I never believed her.
A fish flung out of water by some fateful power not
yet known, I am lost among this sea of busy bodies; mindless, ant-like drones
walking paths their forefather drones already lay before them. The only
ingenuity this city possesses is the stink of sludge flowing from beneath this
street. At least its horrible smell is a little worse, a little newer each day.
Boring, these people are. I long for the days gone by, when it was only the ocean
and I, as she softly cradled my body afloat and I slept in her loving
arms.