Untitled Scene

      The cement was cold; she could feel it through her shoes. Her toes became numb, and when she stumbled on the crumbled parts she felt a pain; her toes punched the inside of her shoes like a hand punching ice without a glove. She climbed the slanted streets, using the broken sidewalk to push her awkward tread forward. She stopped on the corner. Barred shops lined the walk across the way. She looked down the walk to her right: more barred shops. It was a strange symmetrical street, unaware of itself, as if one side was invisible to the other while a mirrored-image was being built. There, most streets are the same. They are streets without a purpose, indignant slabs with potholes and broken glass, spiteful and waiting for cars with old tires. But she had no tires, only thick rubber-soled shoes that mocked the forgotten ground. She wanted to be there.

      She stepped on a shard of broken brown glass, and it popped. She decided to cross.

Written by Ashley Withers