The skyline made no effort to hide the retreat of the cruel summer sun, orange streaks fondling with the shades of ink blue above it. Here, the detested star could only be seen in part, its brilliance diminished, as if tired after a long day of giving poor folk sunburns, dehydration, and heat strokes. Death by daylight! What an irony, for is it not the dark that's the harbinger of death? Of course, it wasn't dark yet. The bustling streets of the city were teeming with scores of people. Some gathered round outdoor coffee tables, chatting up each other about what had been going on in their lives; serious conversations about the most non-serious topics one could think of. (Should we legalize marijuana? Ditching money for crypto? Bah blah.) Others seated themselves in diners or restaurants for a bite to eat. Yet others could not be bothered to wait and thus dotted the fast food joints.
Fast-track to heart disease, she thought!
Food ought not to be fast, it ought to be good, prepared with care and affection!
But these thoughts, much like all her other problems, were now a relic of the past.
Discarded by a new generation raised by the internet.
A society built upon the addiction of instant gratification.
You fancied a dress? Just order it online.
Craving a midnight snack? Well, no need to prepare in advance! The rider will be at your doorstep in just half an hour.
Need sex? Well, there are dating platforms. Hump and dump. Fuck marriage and commitment!
Whatever you couldn't get in an instant was not worth getting at all for today's youths, she thought. Well, one could hardly argue her logic when scores marched briskly across the market square, shopping bags in hand, scanning the area for more to buy. The seasonal sale (if it were indeed such and not a ploy to get people to cough up more money for stuff they did not need) was almost over. A society built upon the addiction of instant gratification.
But she, too, was out and about.
Of course, there was no sense of belonging.
It was as if she lived in a whole different world from the rest of these folks.
Her support group was small, intimate - a source of solitude in an otherwise painful world.
A changing world...
A world rapidly discarding what it meant to feel, to belong...
But none of her few but trusted friends could accompany her today.
Well, when you're out to meet a special someone, discretion is the nicest gift you can bring.
Of course, that didn't mean there wouldn't be another gift.
Another relic of the past - giving gifts...
Love, if it could be called as such anymore, had become so transactional...
Even your parents truly only cared for you if you aced your exams.
Oblivious, almost, to the worries of those around her (extra money burning a hole in the pocket; need a burger in 5 minutes, I'm starving; this sale is now or never; drinking overpriced coffee is the only way I get to socialize), she glided through the busy market square with an upright gait. An upright gait, this too, she feared, was on the path of extinction, thanks to these dreaded smartphones - phones that are smart, so their owners could be dumb as the dodos. She had taken the time to dress up for the occasion, even attracted some looks on the way. In her youth, it would've been a matter of pride, but now it really did not matter.
Her thick blond hair was done nicely into a bun, she wore an elegant sky blue sports coat over a cream pink collared shirt, top two buttons undone, and a light beige knee-length skirt. She walked comfortably in her low-heeled shoes that accentuated her style. Were it not for some graying hair and slight wrinkle marks on her face, that her light makeup failed to conceal, anyone could've mistaken her for a thirty-year-old, a 'petite' thirty-year-old. Mrs. Susane Thompkins was an exceptionally beautiful woman for her age.
Well, for any age.
But as you age, the burdens of life just keep on adding on top of one another. She, as with any person who lived long enough to see it, could say that there was a point in life when she had had everything - and this could mean a billion different things for a billion different people - and then lost it all. The inevitability of loss was perhaps the fear that haunted her, even as she poured all her effort into keeping her face expressionless, holding back a frown as she read people's faces - she could do that, almost like a psychic.
Again, age, experience - there's no substitute for that.
No damn phone, no matter how smart, could do that for you!
A teenage girl, dressed casually in a pair of ripped jeans and a sleeveless top, eyed her from top to bottom as if she were being paraded for identification in a murder investigation, and then smirked as she passed by - her eyes said it all - 'Going on a date with someone?' Susane glared at her and answered in her mind: 'Darling, you'd better get a sense of dressing yourself before you judge others.' Fast fashion, instant gratification - the poison of modern youth... She passed scores when she came across this middle-aged soccer mom, seated on an outdoor coffee table, sipping on her latte, eying her enviously - 'Wonder where she's headed dressed up all like that?' The answer was right on her lips, but she felt no need to say it out loud: 'You'd be better off watching what sort of junk you are stuffing your body with instead of being jealous if you want the magic in your marriage to last.'
Yes, marriage demanded commitment and effort.
You could drag it on without either, but that'd just be living a lie.
Surviving, in fact, not living.
Love making involves two healthy adults in love.
When one or both are thinking of someone more fit for the role while doing it, then it's just an exchange of bodily fluids, nothing else.
Lattes, processed sugars, "fast" food that slows you down - all part of the "big" change.
She shook the thoughts out of her mind; nothing mattered right now. They were free to do as they wished, and she, too, did not care what they thought; this was her life, not theirs. Pacing through the crowd, she made her way towards the florist's shop, her favorite one. A panorama of colors welcomed her sight from a distance, and as she drew nearer, her nostrils filled with a mixture of soothing scents. No drug on Earth could produce an elating effect like this. Flowers of all sorts were arranged in bundles: roses, lilies, daisies, lavender, buttercups, tulips... 'Tulips, his favorite,' she thought. The florist was tending the flowers, spraying them with water. The sound of approaching footsteps caused her to turn around. With a smile fixed on her face and eyes glistening with excitement, she said: "How are you, Mrs. Thompkins?"
"I am fine, Amy. How are you, and how's your boy?"
"I am fine too. Mike's great, the other day he said his first words. 'car car.' Could've said 'mama.' But nooo, he clearly loves his toy cars more than me."
She giggled as she said the last part.
"Kids these days", she replied, holding back a laugh.
"They sure are a hoot and a half. Anyways, how may I help you?"
"The usual, Amy."
Amy was a nice girl - sweet, hardworking, and very caring - but divorced... Another casualty of the changing world where commitment meant nothing, the stupid bastard left her for a hot ride and then got dumped himself (poetic justice!) But Amy was not the kind to let tragic circumstances dictate her life or that of her precious Mike. Yes, Mike would grow up to be a nice person, a true gentleman. She'd see to it. Her 'car car' Mike was a special boy, and she'd make sure he had a happier life, much happier, than hers. Of course, Mrs. Thompkins knew none of this, but she still adored the bond that the mother-son duo shared, a special kind of bond, like nothing else in the world. In the womb, a fetus can sense when the mother has suffered from some sort of stress and sends its own stem cells to help repair parts of her mother's body to mitigate the pain... It's not a very big help, but it comes from a place of love.
A very natural form of love.
Amy had it, her son had it - and it was beautiful!
The sweet girl, no older than 22, dressed in her dark blue work jeans, black shirt, a floral apron on top, and casual gray sneakers, fished out a bunch of yellow tulips and handed them over. "You get these every Saturday... It's been how many, two months, now? Are they for someone special?" Susane smiled and said, "Yes, he's very special."
She paid her and went off to find a taxi.
Time passes quickly when you're busy with your thoughts, and she, for the life of her, could not recall what had passed between now, that she was seated in a taxi, and her exit from the florist's shop. The engine roared to life, and the cab cut through the city streets, stopping just once at a red light. The city, visible all around her, seemed to pass by in a blur. They must've gone past like a gazillion different pedestrians, cyclists, drivers, and buildings. A gazillion people with their own lives, their own happiness, their own tragedies, their own experiences, their own needs, their own wants - and yet, to her, it was all kind of unreal.
It would not have made any difference if we were all part of a simulation.
There's only so much you can know.
And even fewer things you could care about.
The car screeched to a halt in front of the St. Louis Church on Parker Avenue. She got out of the cab and waited for the driver to drive away. Once the car was out of sight, she walked a few paces along the lane and then cut through an alley to the other side. There, across the street, stood the entrance to his place. Two massive wrought iron gates, perhaps as old as herself - at least that's how they looked - painted black, a fresh coat, but creaky nonetheless. With a slight push, the gates yawned open, and she walked along the dirt path, counting her steps, never looking up. The gentle air brushed against her body, forcing her to adjust her cardigan as she paced ahead, the gravel under her feet registering each step with a soft crunch. After about seventy paces, or so, as one would have guessed if one were bothered to do so, she turned left and walked on the soft grass.
Almost there...
She adjusted her hair...
Almost there...
And then, she stopped.
In front of her stood a white marble cross plunged into the earth with the engraving: 'Here lies Alexander Thompkins, a beloved son.' Beloved son... And nothing else... He never lived long enough to be anything more than that. He did not live because life was unfair. Demons walk among us, plaguing this world with their existence, whereas this innocent boy never even made it to twenty. She stood there silently, her cheeks were wet with streams of tears that trickled down her face, her 'old' face, she looked much older now with her makeup washing off. And even if it didn't, she felt old. Old and alone now that her 'someone special' was no more. He had been the only one who made her feel young and lively. (You don't need makeup, Mom, you're as pretty as always! Boy, I sure missed these home-cooked meals, I could eat 'em to death - and she used to gasp every time he said death... Oh no, her little baby could not die, surely the Grim Reaper would spare this sweet, innocent child?)
Yet, he had died.
The Grim Reaper did not care if he was just a child.
Neither did the bastard who killed him.
Negligence... A "distracted" driver, as they say. One of those slaves of instant gratification who could not be bothered to keep his eyes off his phone while driving. Apparently, whatever was on the screen was more important than a human life.
The bastard killed her son!
There was no justice, and even if there were, her son would never come back.
The world, when it was a relatively caring place, would never come back.
Nothing really mattered in the end, did it?
Was anything fair at all?
You could stay off cigarettes for your whole life and still die of cancer.
You could be the nicest soul in the room and still find someone to slit your guts out.
You could be fiscally responsible and still lose your job and your house.
You could live safely, stay away from apparent danger, and still get mugged or shot.
You could be an ordinary civilian and still be blown to bits during an aerial bombing.
It just did not matter!
Nothing mattered now that her baby lay buried beneath her feet.
He was her baby.
The same as the first time she held him in her arms.
He had grown taller, more handsome - but he was her baby, her special boy...
She gently placed the Tulips, his favorite, at the foot of her son's tombstone, forced a smile on her face, and whispered, "I will always love you, my boy." No longer able to bear the sorrow, she turned around and made her way out of the graveyard.
She had promised herself: no tears in front of my special boy.
He can't be bothered with my sorrow.
She had made the same promise every time she came to visit.
And every time, she had failed.
She had failed today as well.
I'm sorry, my boy.
Mama is alright, no need to worry at all...
There's only so much we can know about those around us...
And even fewer things we could care about...
