Present by Korina Szyszko-Nicewicz
The horizon stretches on, houses upon houses, trees upon trees - the telephone wire extending between them as if splitting them in two. It’s funny, really, how untrue that is. The wire enables a major form of communication; the only thing keeping most people together. The streets are filled with the joyful smiles and boisterous laughter of people meeting friends and savouring their time outside with each other. Shouts and conversations drift down the roads, intertwining with themselves and dancing across the wind.
(“No, Spencer, you can’t just bail on us!” someone laughs. “You promised you’d go once you passed your exam!” “Could I please have a-” “Your shirt’s so cute! Where-”)
There’s a slight surrealness surrounding the fact that they each have their own lives, troubles, and complexities, but before my thoughts can draw me in, the sun reappears from behind the clouds just barely skimming its surface and reflects across the café tables. The weather is perfect for this time of year and the sky ethereally sunlit. (“I’ll meet you at the park, yeah?”) The park’s been there forever, I think, with its trampled grass and scattered dandelions. I’m not really sure. I was never one to go to the park anyways, but one thing’s for certain - it’s full of people nowadays. There’s a child, with their mother pushing them on the swing they’re on, and I watch her startle as they jump, “Mummy, look!” Their eyes widen at the rustle of a squirrel between the trees, and they run arms outstretched, kicking up burning leaves from underneath their feet, spiralling down and down to touch the floor below. (“No, Mum, it’s not meant to rain... It’s not winter! I’ll be-”) The birds by the benches startle at the disturbance; they shake their wings and take off into the sky until they are distant silhouettes seeking refuge. Two, however,
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