As I walked down familiar streets made unfamiliar; emptiness blooming like a strange mould in the houses I passed. The sky appeared to be melting down into the urban landscape, definition lost, edges undefined as buildings bowed under the rot.
As Old Boy and I walked quietly through the streets sound was muted in the encompassing greyness.
I looked down at Old Boy and asked “Do we exist?”
Old Boy didn’t answer; he just walked quietly beside me.
I feel as if I have faded into the pallid light flaked out into ashes. As if I have I become part of this achromatic world. Dispersed, blanched white, withered away, soundless, voiceless; alone.
Do I exist? Or am I a ghost in the landscape? I feel I am encased in dreams and blind to anything but the shroud around me.
Do I exist to any but myself and Old Boy?
Strangely I miss the occasional fellowship of others. We kept walking through the soul-numbing greyness of a once vibrant neighbourhood. After the election of 2052 families left in drove and neighbourhood crumbled as the homeless moved in and then moved out again as pickings became lean.
Now it is only Old Boy and me in this area of town. Suddenly my ears pricked I could hear music. Was I imagining this; my pace quickened. I reached the edge of the old park and the shroud surrounding me lifted at the sight of the bright caravans and the dancing crowd. As I stood watching I felt my heart like a young child awaken to the joy of the movement and colour.
“Hey, old man” a young girl called out “Come and join the Dance.”
I stepped forward, Old Boy at my heels, my feet started to twitch and move to the rhythm of the beat. The Dance flows into my soul and as I danced the years disappeared and Old Boy and I once again became young.
In the dance, I exist.
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