Themed Writing Contest #13
Theme: Travel Stories
Entry 1
"Stray"
I turned off my computer and went outside for a walk. There, I saw two people walking their dogs, three people at the bus stop sinking deeper into their phones, and a mailman loathing her job. It’s one of those rare times you can take a single look at a person and undoubtedly know how they’re feeling. She never closed the lid after stuffing an envelope into the door’s mailslot. It was awkward, but we did have a brief moment of eye contact. I couldn’t help but turn away instinctively. I remember her eyes being almost lifeless and cold but who am I to judge.
It may have been the tinge of fresh air and sunlight, but for some reason I felt a little adventurous. There was this one part of town that I never bothered to set foot in. The place was not any less affluent compared to my residential area, but there were more sightings of spray-painted graffiti found along underpasses and warehouse walls. I’m pretty sure people don’t really mind the harmless vandals, but if they had the choice, they would take a different road for their daily commute.
At the other side of the river bank, there were massive piles of girders beside a skeleton of a building. Another investment bank or fast food restaurant, probably. I think that time, my guess very likely was wrong.
At the bridge, there was a steel construction sign. On it, was a caricature of a man in a blue jumper and a yellow hard hat taking a bow. I can’t read Japanese, but if I had to take a stab in the stab in the dark, the characters beside him would be along the lines of “construction” and “I’m sorry for the convenience”. Even if it’s just a painted sign, it felt repulsive to see anything bow down before me.
Entry 2
The train glided across the flat expanse of country between Chicago and Flagstaff. The sun was rising steadily, so we sat on the west side of the dining car, wanting to keep the curtain open on our window. A waiter came over with our sandwiches and a bottle of wine. They filled their glasses, and Jake handed me the bottle. The train slowed as the tracks curved, and I looked out onto the plains. Four Indians stood around a headstone that rose out of a freshly dug grave. I wondered who had died. One of them lifted her head up and I saw no tears, but a smile that said, “I’m thankful.” I turned away, and poured the wine.
Voting until May 5th 12 AM NST
if there is one thing i have to change, it's the last paragraph. i don't like it.
