Monochrome (Published by The Literary Times Mag)

Link: ISSUE IV – The Literary Times

Winter. A season which withers the lifeforce of every living being alike. Crimped skin, parched leaves, subdued hums of the raptors, the glacial, monotone caress of the wind laggardly engulfing the outlook. If lucky, many get to view the white condenses, gingerly stowing itself on roofs, the emeralds, and transports, whilst many don’t.

Amidst the glum, an apartment lay, devoid of being tended at the fringe of a neighborhood. The neighbors in the structure disregard the apartment for its unkempt, and mostly vacant state. They hear laggard, non-uniform footings barely, or mostly whilst they are asleep in the nocturne.

The apartment, regardless of season is as artless as the monotonic hues. Once the walls with tranquil creamy hue faded into a rather dim version of ivory, with specks of dents attempting to strand the solid structure. Leaked pipes here and there ink the walls, a few displaying itself from the precipitation of already fragments. A sign of indifference is blaring across the expanse. 

The apartment’s bedroom amasses a miniscule, despondent looking closet standing itself in a corner, brimming with hues of gray, white and black ensemble, each article worn for a week before they are lugged all the way to an inexpensive laundromat every two weeks. The whirring washing machines are also white, as if without the roof, blinking tube lights inked in the ceiling, baskets strewn for its use to fold the fabric, would meld into the ivory of the snow. 

The apartment resembles the state which housed itself in every nook and cranny of the gray matter of its inhabitant. Haphazard, monotonic, dim. Devoid of amber, devoid of zeal, devoid of magnetism towards life. Only chapped nails, unruly appearance, and smoke permeating lungs and cranium. The stash of cigarette butts built upon every enlightenment of nicotine. The red skin viewed on the fingertips upon each racing, self-deprecating thought. The profound breaths formed upon every introspective gaze. 

All of it devoid of a path diverged from this endless loop.