She had come back to remember or to forget; the difference felt unimportant this evening. Memory lives in the small places: the exact angle of a signboard, the way a particular door gave when pushed, the constancy of a lantern's wobble in a wind that never stays. She traced them with her eyes like a cartographer. There was the place where an old man used to sell paper cranes; the doorway where two sisters had kept a little shrine; the step where a boy had once lost his slipper and everyone had laughed as if loss were a temporary joke.
YOU ARE READING
EMPTY STREET
Teen Fiction"An empty street glows, where shadows keep old stories alive." A narrow lantern-lit street glistens under the rain, its stone pathway reflecting the warm glow of crimson and amber lights. Wooden houses with tiled roofs line either side, their signs...
