Fiction: That Evening Before Dusk

That Evening Before Dusk

Sitting on the roof of your house, watching the evening clouds set afire by the dying sun, your mind was silent. You weren’t thinking; in that meaningless moment, you were free.
You sat there and stared at the reddened clouds, your eyes set boldly on the frozen turbulent waves in the sky. Uncaring, poring deep into the distant fluff of overwhelming vapour. It was getting darker now, greyer. The sun was leaving his clouds, taking back all his furious colour in painful seconds, leaving everything else muddy, dreary and dying. It looked like the world would break away from the sky, one cloud at a time.

Then a star appeared. Just one. Some people were turning on the lamps in their houses, terrified by the prospect of night. You sat. You wondered why you didn’t come up here more often. It appealed to you, the anonymous fall of darkness upon your city, your voyeuristic staring, your secret solitude.

The street beneath you was abuzz with pointless activity. Four floors above, you watched. There was no distance between you and the edge of the roof. It was so tempting; it felt like something was calling you to it. You shook your mind out of its longing and turned.

The star was getting brighter. You didn’t really notice that there were no other stars in that fading heaven.

I saw you that evening. We all stare into the same sky, you know?

By Mrunmayee Saudade

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