Four people sit in a parking lot. Their cars are scattered throughout the different levels as if by some unspoken rule. A huge hackberry tree stands watchful in the center. The sky is choked with huge gray cotton balls and the wind whips furiously at the glass of their windows in bursts, beckoning them to come out into the chilly afternoon air. Each person is still. In each car, silence. An older woman sits, wondering where the wrinkles came from and why they brought so many years with them. The younger thinks of what the future holds and hopes it terrifies someone else besides her. A young man stares at the swings swaying in the wind, and hopes that his unborn son will want to come here with him. And the older one caresses the blade in his hand, hoping one of the others will be careless.
As the minutes go by their minds duck and twist and bend, each searching for an answer, a sign, a reason. Then one by one they start their cars and slowly make their way back to the road, each mind slightly lighter than before. Quietly the last leaves detach and drift slowly down. Comments are closed.
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