This piece was originally meant to be a long piece of prose poetry: an epic, but I had to, for some reasons - along the line - change it to a short story. This is supposed to explain it's story-line deviation from the regular setting that is featured in short stories. Enjoy:



We had agreed to meet at 7:06.

It was afternoon and the sun hid behind grey clouds. It peaked around corners occasionally to warm the city centre wanderers. Mainly I saw dimly lit faces walking briskly to avoid the early autumn chill. Summer was fading. I sat slouched on a hard bench, no longer concerned with posture correction. There was nothing to do but kill time. Staring ahead, I leaned back against the wooden bench and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket. I lit one, inhaled then exhaled, and watched the silver smoke cloud introduce itself to the atmosphere before it drifted into non-existence.

An unhappy child and his overweight mother were walking towards me. They were far too close so I pre-emptively moved my feet to avoid any contact. I stared at her ass as she walked another twenty metres or so down the street before turning a corner. I thought that they were probably going to buy frozen food somewhere. I had nearly finished my cigarette so I took a couple of final drags of the hotter smoke. I felt the heat of the glowing ember on my nose as the thought of on the spot fines for littering crossed my mind. I flicked the butt as hard as I could with finger and thumb into passing traffic, staring blankly into the distance to avoid any glare from onlookers.

I stood up and the clouds dispersed as I began walking aimlessly through the city. I looked for streets with taller buildings to block the sun. On the sunless streets the buildings of bank and recruitment offices towered like snow-capped mountains. A man was sat on a collapsed cardboard box in a doorway, offering an empty coffee cup with the top half torn off. He asked for change. I wanted to give him some but I didn’t. For a moment I thought about turning back. I decided too long had passed so I kept walking.

As I walked, I thought about who I was meeting at 7:06. In the past we had been reasonably well acquainted. Since then a year or two had passed with the smoothness a ‘good’ life entails. Now the freshness and excitement of that life had washed away. I lit another cigarette. I respected the freedom of his ideas. I had tried control but I didn’t have it in me anymore. Hypocrisy is too pervasive. I thought about on the spot fines for littering and dropped my cigarette into the drain. It missed and rolled into the road.

It was nearly 6. I turned around and headed towards the bus station. The streets were busier now and I had to dodge the grey and blue plague of suited men. Sometimes I wear a suit but I’m never one of them. Maybe they feel the same.

I boarded the bus which brought back memories of school commutes as a nervous teenager. The bus driver wasn’t wearing a uniform. I’m sure they used to wear uniforms. I sat down towards the back and leant my head against the dirty window. I watched all the people with admiration as the bus negotiated its way out of the city. There is something too beautiful about the way people go about their days. Everyone has a past of intricate paths winding in infinite directions. I almost smiled at the thought before catching the soft glare of my own reflection in the dirty window.

My stop was approaching. I looked around for the nearest button to press and found it on the rail in front, slightly to the left. I glanced out the window, then towards the button three or four times so that I could press it at the right moment. Finally I pressed the button and moved down the bus as it slowed to a stop.

I walked along the deserted street towards the fields and footpaths. The houses here were forgotten about years ago, although you could still feel the life of years passed. The footpath was narrow and bushes brushed my arms. I pulled a leaf from one of the darker branches and ran it between my fingers before dropping it to the ground. It was reassuringly waxy. I couldn’t see the river yet but I heard its rumbles through the trees up ahead. Yesterday’s rain made it bulge fat with orange tones.

There was a small clearing of flattened yellow grass on the riverbank. I knelt down and felt the grounds moisture soaking through to my knees. I pulled my cigarettes out of my pocket, put the last one in my mouth and lit it. I thought about on the spot fines for littering, threw the empty packet into the river, watching it come alive and race away. I inhaled deeply. I emptied my lungs of smoke and air. I looked at my watch which read 7:06. Branches rustled behind me as the river reflected redder tones. I closed my eyes as the silver smoke cloud drifted into non-existence.
      
THE END...

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I see, you're one of those poetic writers that can't stop being poetic!

Well, your descriptions are very vivid. I could imagine myself walking down the same environment. Good stuff.


But then, you godammned poets are so disingenuous that I can't even tell if this whole story was a hallucination from smoking substances or a suicide note or just a bloody walk in the park.

But still, good stuff!

AllNaijaBlogger:
I see, you're one of those poetic writers that can't stop being poetic!

Well, your descriptions are very vivid. I could imagine myself walking down the same environment. Good stuff.


But then, you godammned poets are so disingenuous that I can't even tell if this whole story was a hallucination from smoking substances or a suicide note or just a bloody walk in the park.

But still, good stuff!

Hahhahaha. You are free to give life to it in any of it's forms that best suits you.

Thanks.

What'd'ya say vets?

Oahray
Larrysun
Ishilove
Alexpissu
JigsawKillah
classyalabolas
MzNelly
firestar
sinizia

I agree with ANB.
There's this poetic rhythm to it.

My mind's not that deep.
I don't understand the story

Well, you have a very vivid script and it had a spirited interest so calm as a dream.

If I have to give it a subject that fits my mind....The story has a concept of memories, punishment and a bit of worrisome predicament

Anyway nice one ...I never knew you write .

Alexpissu:
Well, you have a very vivid script and it had a spirited interest so calm as a dream.

If I have to give it a subject that fits my mind....The story has a concept of memories, punishment and a bit of worrisome predicament

Anyway nice one ...I never knew you write .

Thanks!

Oh! These are links to some of my former works:

www.nairaland.com/2316463/inner-mind-short-poem-brief

www.nairaland.com/2340382/world-gone-poem-brief-commentary

www.nairaland.com/2326935/hades-fantasy-fiction-poem

www.nairaland.com/2333412/colours-truth-book-versed-thoughts

Please check them out and point out my flaws, sir.

llaykorn:


Thanks!

Oh! These are links to some of my former works:

www.nairaland.com/2316463/inner-mind-short-poem-brief

www.nairaland.com/2340382/world-gone-poem-brief-commentary

www.nairaland.com/2326935/hades-fantasy-fiction-poem

www.nairaland.com/2333412/colours-truth-book-versed-thoughts

Please check them out and point out my flaws, sir.

Sure, I will check them out but I am not talented poet .

Hmmm,you don't have to address me as "sir" . The word "sir" is used in an office environment, writing a letter or addressing a customer.

Haha!
I like this. . .
Especially the cigarette part.

Haha!
I like this. . .
Especially the cigarette part.

*Lies down on thread*

Nice

i would read this later

timpaker:
Very funny.

Nice one llaykorn

Heheh. I'm glad you found it funny; you could give life to it in your own witty way. That was exactly what I wanted the readers to do. Kudos, sir!

JigsawKillah:
Haha!

I like this. . .

Especially the cigarette part.

I knew you'd say something about the cigarette part.

Was the account about cigarettes accurate enough? You're very experienced in matters like those.

MzNelly:
I agree with ANB.
There's this poetic rhythm to it.

My mind's not that deep.
I don't understand the story

LOL. You don't really need a deep mind; you only need the skill of being able to give life to pieces as ambiguous as this. There's nothing to understand in the piece; it's naturally meaningless. The reader is supposed to give it the breath of meaning.

You were never a fancier of those poetry verses, were you?

MzNelly:
I agree with ANB.
There's this poetic rhythm to it.

My mind's not that deep.
I don't understand the story

where have you been?

darkenedrebel:


where have you been?

Around...

You?

llaykorn:


LOL. You don't really need a deep mind; you only need the skill of being able to give life to pieces as ambiguous as this. There's nothing to understand in the piece; it's naturally meaningless. The reader is supposed to give it the breath of meaning.

You were never a fancier of those poetry verses, were you?

Lol' it's beautiful

Wish I could write like this

MzNelly:


Around...

You?

I haven't been seeing you around though

darkenedrebel:


I haven't been seeing you around though

Neither have I.

Except when you're fighting with S.O.M sha.

Lost