Every day, I stand here

Friday 2nd March 2018

8:52 pm:

I awaken. It is harder to think tonight. The dark sky is covered with grey, fuming clouds. The stars don't shine tonight, as the clouds have swallowed them up. The moon is the only light source in the sky. I am one of the light sources on the surface. The clouds roam the surface once again tonight. They have been like this for a while, every night. I find that they are friendly to me. They give me warm hugs. They keep me happy at night. They keep me company every night and I enjoy it.

Tonight, there are more humans walking around. Humans in suits again. They are talking but not to each other, but into a device. Some of them have a stern voice and some talk with a little hint of enthusiasm in their voices. Some of them hiss down to the other end, like sharp blades cutting through the mind. The devices are dark. I can just get a hint of writing on them. I am guessing it is the brand. They each have a different brand and different styles of the device. I think they call it a phone. Something that you can play games on, message friends or even talk to them from a far distance. I wish I had one of those phones, I could then talk to the others around here, but it will never happen.

~

The crowds are gone and there is silence. A silence that I don't enjoy. There is nobody. It is a ghost town. I only have the clouds. They look after me. They are always there for me. I look around, to see if I can see a human in the distance. Nobody. No humans. Loneliness. I am lonely. The clouds don't talk and I can't talk to them. 

The sound of footsteps takes me out of my thoughts. I look in the direction they are coming from. They are slow footsteps. The human slowly walks up. It keeps walking until I can see. The human is a man. A man with wrinkles. He has a flower in hand. He is walking up towards me. Towards the chair. His footsteps are slow, but shaky. His face it a little red and puffy. He has dried up water on his face. He has been crying. He slowly turns around at the chair and takes a seat. I can see him a bit better. His hand are wrinkly and they look rough, like sandpaper. His hands are shaky. He looks like he is scared. He has been crying.

The flower in his hands is shaking. The flower is lightly coloured pink. It has small petals and it has small leaves. I stare at it. I see some of the thorns that it has. They look sharp. They are knives. They can cut through anything. I can see that one of them is missing. A white substance is seeping through the wound that is left. I wish I could see the tears from the pain that it is going through. The man's hands are covered with a bit of blood, blood from being on the sharp thorns. I watch him. I watch his actions. His shaky hands and his shallow sobs. The flower then limps over. 

The man then lets a stream of tears run down his face. Sobs turn into cries of a name, 'Irina, Irina, my beautiful Irina... Why did you have to leave me too fast... Irina... Irin... Iri... Ir...' He repeats this sentence, in between each cry, each shallow sob. Who is this Irina? Is she his child? His girl? He looks up, searching the sky. The orange tinge begins to run over the dark sky. I can see his tear-stained face. I focus on the flower, the flower that has drooped. A petal then falls and collapses, breaking free of the stem. It then floats through the air and lands softly on the trodden ground. The man then stands up and slowly walks away from the chair. I guess it is lights out for me. I can feel the sun's warmth, burning my glass. I wonder what happened to that man? I want to know more, but I can't. I have to stick with my job as a lamp.