By Annie Chen
A girl stands at a street corner where cars and scooters drift by, their engines humming like distant memories. The light for the crosswalk turns green, and she watches those wearing the same uniform as hers cross the street with a wistful smile. She recognizes them. They are her classmates; just yesterday, they had lunch together, gossiping about who was involved with whom.
She doesn’t say hello. One of them meets her eyes, where the stillness behind her gaze numbs her from head to toe. The pedestrian light flashes. The engines roar to life. And an icy chill creeps down her spine.
The sound of footsteps grabs her attention, and she turns and sees an unfamiliar young man years older than her. High school? College, perhaps? He’s holding snacks in his hands, snacks that her parents had bought her just yesterday for her amazing test scores. He isn’t looking at her, but at the flowers and snacks that surround her feet. His eyes are like hers. Still. Quiet. Dull.
His lips move, yet his words are lost on the weeping wind that is her voice.
Because this unfamiliar face is but another grave reminder that she will never leave this street corner. The street corner where her youth is left shattered on the road, never to be gathered and pieced together into the collage of a future that was once hers.
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Annie Chen is a writer and coffee and tea enthusiast who’s always looking for a cat to cuddle.