beginnings of stories on cold mornings

It was quiet this morning. I walked from the yellow house down to the small tunnel that connected the neighborhood to the town.

The neighborhood consists of just the houses, little families occupying each one.

The town though had the life, the life that I wondered about but never took part in.

Restaurants, I had yet to try, coffee shops with many nameless people I probably would never take the time to meet, and a weirdly extensive collection of funeral homes.

I walked around the corner, patiently waiting for the next bus to arrive, because of course, like every other morning I missed the first one. I opened my bag, pulled out the torn up box of Marlboro lights I kept hidden from my mother in the bottom of the cloth bag that has been tearing since I got it. I pulled out a new lighter from further below the mess, somehow I manage to lose one then find a new one every single day, this time it was a turquoise color, just like the eyes of the boy I couldn’t seem to get off my mind, though I wanted to.

There I was, smoking a cigarette, trying to avoid the smell lingering on my body in hopes that again my mothers sharp sense of smell wouldn’t attach to the smoke that touched my lips.

I looked around me, taking in the new surroundings, and at every single block there would be yet another funeral home. Not just one or two, but a solid 10 or 15.

Each looked different.

One was all white with bright flowers in the front, trying to hide the fact that it’s rooms were filled to the brim with cold dead bodies, behind the big bright colored doors that looked so friendly. One further down the street had a more genuine feel to it,

dark colors

no flowers

dark black cars surrounding its entrance

it looked more like a place of death than the others

a few felt the need to hide the truth

but the others were a bit more blunt.

I wondered which one I’d be placed in if miraculously I died here in this new town I knew nothing about and who knew nothing about me. Before I began to actually plan out my funeral where no one knew my name, thankfully the bus arrived. I hopped on and walked swiftly towards the back, before I could find my seat, the driver zoomed off, making me lose my balance and almost falling onto the man in a navy blue polo. I got to my seat and sat there sullen, staring out the window, on this very grey day.

It hadn’t rained

yet the sun seemed like a distant memory

while the dark clouds made every inch of the sky their new home.