This is the story of a city.
A city which, when viewed from space, was barely a speck; a dot; a bland freckle on the face of the earth. Insignificant, irrelevant and unimportant. A city which was once a bustling cosmopolitan but now lies haggard and forgotten by the world which once revolved around it.
***
Worth cannot be created, nor destroyed.
It is controlled by meaning. Its value created by context. Without meaning, worth cannot exist. This place had little meaning in the world. It was simply just another city. A city with trees, buildings, parks, roads, and children. However, simply because a place is deemed worthless, does not necessarily mean it still doesn’t have any sentimental value. At least for its occupants – well; one occupant in particular.
This occupant is a man. An average man, nothing extraordinary, exceptional or unexpected, nothing to make made him particularly unusual. He was a man, in search of colour, in a greyscale metropolis. He just wasn’t aware of it yet.
***
The sky was a dim wash of grey.
The man paced along the narrow sidewalk, his tall, clumsy frame naturally slouched as his neck strained to see over the shadow-casting scrapers, drowning in their own hazy smog.
His face, like the city, was dull, expressionless, nuzzled into the thick woollen scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. He walked as though his steps had no purpose or destination. He was just one man; one ant, scurrying along the scarred face, in search of nothing in particular.
The city was a place trapped in time, in space. In what it used to be, yesterday’s world – now discoloured. A city old and frail, once an immense beauty - nowadays, faded into nothingness. Its remaining occupants move in habit, programmed and trapped in their own pitiable lives, desperately dreaming of escape.
Its once proud walls lay in rubble, its aged gothic features in a state of decay.
The man sits at a bus stop. Waiting. For what, he isn’t entirely sure. A lump sits on his chest, weighing on his diaphragm. A guilt drawn from within him for a reason which he can’t entirely recall. Something is missing, something has been lost, something of which he cannot remember.
Mid-thought he noticed her. A woman, lips thick, painted blood red, stepping off a silver tin bus. Her dark hair and grey coat blowing softly in the wind. She paused, lips pursed, a hint of both recognition and confusion in her dark eyes as they met his.
***
His eyes were blue, the colour of the ocean on a clear summers day.
Immediately pulling her into the memories buried deep in her sub-conscious. A time far away, in a world of colour, her childhood, which now in hindsight, felt like a rose coloured summer haze.
For a moment she remained lost, tumbling through the chest of trapped recollections. A time where she felt safe in the beautiful city. Each alley way full of children playing, laughing, and holding the potential of a new favourite cafe, a familiar book shop. Not a dangerous place where mace sprays is compulsory.
***
The man stopped in contemplation.
Her lips were the colour of the red delicious apples he stole from his neighbour’s farm as a child. A time of naive mischief, where he would sprint through the orchards, with flushed crimson cheeks, giggling at the livid curses from the farmer’s wife.
Hand in hand with younger siblings, practically dragging them through the paddocks, home, where their scorning mother would be waiting. Their stomach’s gurgling with delight, which they always paid for later. The man remembered always taking the blame. Protecting little Aggie and Richard, from the wrath of both his mother and Mrs Cobb. The same siblings which he hadn’t seen in years, since the death of their father.
Memories fashioned from a time distant from this current reality. A time of manners, of reputation, of kindness and closeness. A time where colour reigned.
***
Two complete strangers stood faced on the pavement.
She with cherry lips, and he with sapphire eyes, locked in reminiscence. Both at the same time, completely aware and unaware of the sheer magnitude of emotion being evoked by the mere presence of colour.
***
As the setting sun pulled away from the clouds, the sky became a wash of misty purple, splashed with vibrant orange and fuchsia, projected unto the city.
The city glistened and sparkled with the worth of a cherished gemstone.
