Night would never fall in the City's perpetual dawn, yet it didn't stop the man from feeling a darkness fall upon the city. Each shadow seemed that much more black. Each boulevard seemed that much more empty.
His footfalls landed with a clunk akin to metal on stone, the only sound that echoed back at him, like the City didn't want him to feel alone. Everything echoed, his feet, his armour, his heart. The torments of his mind sounded ever louder...
With each footfall the city restored itself, emanating out from his steps, leaving footprints of purity and restoration in the decayed world, akin to a shining light in a world of darkness. Colour returning to a muted sea. The man had been walking for a while, he could have flown, yet for reasons even he couldn't define he had refused it. He walked in the great city, in the ruined City.
Years now he had just walked its streets, flown its spires, explored its depths. He tried his best to watch the falling spires, it was less like the shock of chaotic destruction and more like watching a friend die in front of him. He knew too well what that was like. It set his heart beating faster in anger and rage, directed at everyone else. It was a fire fuelled by grief, breathing his sorrow, and lit by his bitterness. The world he once knew had been left to rot, yet under his caretaking he could only watch it, and hope that one day life would return to the City.
The man stopped as the shroud of thoughts, each one of the coming cataclysms clouded his mind to the point where he couldn't see anything but ash. His hands raised to his dirty face, the metal gauntlets cold against his skin, he whispered to himself in a gravely tone.
"Get your head together Gale." He muttered firmly. He pressed on his temples expelling the images from his mind. He looked around once more, while the surroundings looked the same, a trained eye could tell that each spire would have once been unique. Now the only true distinction was the collapsed and broken ruins scattered across the causeways that men once walked. A forgotten past, only by those that abandoned it. Gale prayed once again that he could see the city in its prime once more, yet every dream was this desolate land. He held no power alone to repair the city.
It took a moment to feel he wasn't actually alone. He felt a heartbeat in his city beside his own. At first he thought it was nothing more than the City's own will pressing on his mind. He was right, but it wasn't singing secrets of ages past or telling songs of peace and tranquility.
It was an instruction.
He looked up, amongst the varying spires a lone clock tower rose high into the sky, its numerous faces were placed intermittently on its surface, all of them long having stopped, all of them decayed. It took him moments to realise why now of all times he felt that heart beat slowly.
He couldn't tell who they were, they hung there, that's all he knew, and that was enough to fill him with excitement. The figure hung in the sky, clearly a denizen of the city, they wore the same plated flight suit that he did, its glow a brilliant and vibrant green, each plate coloured like dark marble, albeit from this distance, Gale couldn't make out more than basic distinctions.
"Hello there!" He shouted, his voice echoed loudly. The figure's head snapped around. On sight they took a guarded stance. Backing away in the air as if he were a monster. Gale jumped into the air, however before he could approach she was gone. Pulling a board from her waist and riding it like a skateboard upon the sky further into the city.
Gale could only smile, someone else in the city of dreams, someone who believed. He felt at ease knowing it, even as his body began to feel distant and the familiar press of his bed against his back. His last moments that night were to land and with his eyes closed, for the first time in years, he peacefully drifted off into the world awaiting for him.
Sometimes it felt like the real world was the dream. Gale clenched his fist slowly, gripping onto the bed covers, as if to confirm his return. His eyes opened, one first then the other, his gaze falling upon his stained ceiling. He blinked a few times, squinting in the dazzling sunlight.
It wasn't an alarm that woke him, rather the hubbub from the street below. He recognised every sound, and he didn't want to.
He spat the stub of last night's cigarette from his mouth, and painfully swung his legs around. He pulled himself to his feet, the sprinkled ash fell off him. As he stumbled to the window his hand rested against his chest. He could barely feel the beating of his heart, it ran quiet and slow. Parting the curtains slowly he saw the hideous car parked on the street below.
"Ah... Shit." He muttered in frustration, he heard its owner bang against his front door. Growling in frustration, Gale stumbled his way to it, tripping over the scattered belongings across his bedroom, piles of clothes and boxes invaded the corridor linking his flat together. Cigarette ash had long stained the blue carpet grey, pitting it with burn marks. Mold had taken over everywhere else.
The locks clanked heavily as Gale pulled off the massive aftermarket deadbolt, heaving the door open like it were a bank vault, its hinges squealing until it locked on its chain. He bitterly hated the man's smile beyond it.
"Hey Dad." His son said to his father's frowning face. Gale only grunted as he removed the chain and opened the door.
"Get inside Alban, you'll let the heat out." Gale growled in response. As his son made his way inside Gale plucked an old, half finished cigarette from a shelf and didn't hesitate to spark it.
Alban slowly followed his father, he muttered to himself about the state of the flat like he did every time. His eyes fell on the door to Gale's radio room, left slightly ajar. Alban peered into it, trying to yearn its secrets, only to have it slam in his face.
"You know you are not allowed to even peak in there." His father muttered with his cigarette still in his mouth, ash and cinders raining from it. He bolted the door shut and locked it before Alban could complain.
"Dad, I'm twenty seven! I'm allowed to do what I like!" The man responded sharply. His dad whipped around, pointing at him with his cigarette, knocking more ash from its gem.
"In my flat you're still twelve, you will do as I say." He responded loudly. Alban looked taken aback by his father's sudden aggression. Gale turned around, heading into what could be called his living room. By the time his son, a few steps behind, had crossed the threshold he had picked up an open bottle from the coffee table. Yet before he consumed its fiery ambrosia he held a long glance at a picture on his mantelpiece. It was old and darkened, yet its frame and glass was completely immaculate. One would think it had been put there just that morning, maybe even cleaned during those few steps. Its subject had a warming smile, she was beautiful, frozen perfectly in an instant of time. It and a few candles were the only things atop that mantelpiece as if it were an altar. Quite a surprise considering the general clutter and mess filling the man's flat. His gaze did not go unnoticed.
"Hey I wasn't expecting you so soon..."
"I went to see her the other day." His son said, almost mournfully as Gale took a long drink from the bottle, shivers rushed down his body as the liquor burned his throat, he loved it.
"How is she? Are they looking after her?" He asked softly. His son could see a crystal of water in his eye.
"Only because of the money I'm bleeding out for them. You can still work, why don't you help?" Alban said, scolding. "Stops me from having to buy you fags all the time as well!"
His dad stopped for a moment in utter silence. He raised the bottle again. Saying one word before taking another mouthful.
"No."
"No?" Alban scoffed back.
"No." His dad confirmed. Alban sighed heavily.
"You always say that! Why don't you give me a reason for once?" He barked at his father. The man chuckled back.
"You always say that as well." He responded, he slowly took a seat on a worn out armchair. Putting his cigarette out on its wooden armrests. The column of smoke rose gently into the air. "Are we gonna follow the script this time or shall we go addlib?"
"You've been like this since she left, Dad! Can't you see that you drove her away? I won't play this game, you're the one who can't deal with what really happened!" His son burst. Gale's eyes dug deep into his son's own, he knew what he was doing, he knew his way of dressing it up. The young man could feel his stare burning, filled with hatred and loathing, filled with rage. That look, was the one thing he truly feared.
"Just as well I didn't fill the kettle." Gale chuckled, his face slowly turned stern and cold "Leave what you brought me and go." He ordered, gesticulating for him to head to the door.
Alban, outwardly frustrated but inwardly thankful. He reached into the pockets of his business coat, throwing out freshly bought packets of his father's favourite brand onto the table. He dug into his inside pocket, pulling out a fresh bottle of liquor, as something softly thudded on the worn carpet. Stepping forward Alban held the bottle to his Father.
"I got enough, keep it." Gale grumbled, his son only nodded, whipping around in fuming silence he made his way to the door. Gale could hear him set the bottle down on a shelf gently, earning a smile from the man before he slammed the door shut.
Gale got up from where he was sitting, his eyes drawn with curiosity to the object on the floor. He swooped down and picked it up, holding up for him to see. He flipped the orange poker chip around between his fingers with a frown. Gale grumbled to himself as he stumbled back to his chair, dropping into it with a thud. He tossed the chip onto the table without care, letting it clatter against it as he reached for one of the packets. His smile returned as he read the name on it.
"Pall Mall, Lovely." He said cheerfully moments before opening it and sparking one of them up.