Probably still eating that sandwich in his dreams, I thought, flipping onto my side for the hundredth time.
Finally admitting defeat, I got up and tiptoed out of the house, trying to stay quiet despite the floorboards creaking their protests.
Outside, the darkness was absolute—no streetlights, no glow of civilization. Without artificial light, the night felt hushed and oddly welcoming, though as a kid, I’d hated the dark. Back then, it always seemed to hide danger, every rustle sharp and hostile in my ears. Especially in the city, where drunken barhoppers lurked around every corner.
Later, I read in some book that this fear was just a leftover from our ancient animal instincts—back when survival meant fending off wild beasts or rival tribes. That explanation actually comforted me so much that, over time, I not only made peace with the dark but even became one of those very same barhoppers stumbling home at dawn.
I pulled out a cigarette from the pack I’d discreetly swiped from the hallway shelf (likely belonging to the kid’s grandfather). Lighting up, I sat down on the porch steps, relieved I didn’t impale myself on a splinter. A cloud of exhaled smoke hung in the air, and without thinking, I inhaled it back. Cue a coughing fit. These cigarettes were brutal, way stronger than I’d expected. Wincing, I stubbed it out on the railing and flicked the butt into the dirt.
What’s even the appeal of these things?
I turned my gaze upward. It was probably around 4 a.m.—still dark enough for a few stubborn stars to linger, but dawn was already bleeding into the edges of the sky.
"Wish I could show you these stars," I said aloud, though I wasn’t sure who I was talking to.
A splash echoed from the lake—like a large fish breaking the surface. Sleep-deprived and driven by idle curiosity, I stood and walked toward the water.
Stepping onto the footbridge, I leaned over the edge and stared at my reflection. Gradually, it split into two, warping into something like a convex TV screen playing a film I didn’t recognize.
A walk through the Pink City, where the air was thick with spices and hope. I was with a girl, resting on concrete slabs stacked like staircases, watching water so still it seemed suspended in midair.
Who is she? Why can’t I see her face?