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Rock Street, San Francisco

I admire this world. I admire the beauties; the ironies. The ironies which lie at the tips of… Wait. Of course. Of course… who am I? Dear readers, I could give a proper introduction, however, I do not believe there is a need. So, let me tell you a story. Splat! A snowball flew. It flew across the inviting winter day… across the vibrant roseate sky… right into the face of a kid with cheeks flushed red. Euphoric! Kids frolicked across the white meadow. They wore bulky winter wear, puffed like cotton candy. Amidst the kids’ chatter and laughter, the larks sang. Bustle and hustle, cars drove by honking, cheering the day. The crisp scent of winter breeze tingled the pedestrians’ systems; the smell of freshly baked pastries swayed with their souls. Gradually, the ballerina-like snowflakes danced in the fading evening light.Words of warning: all good things must come to an end. I told you I admire this world… winter days especially.But I will tell you what I relish watching after the joy of day… Tic-tock. Tic-tock. Tic-tock. One by one, the hours passed. The old, burnt-brown grandfather clock in the corner of the living room chimed. The day grew darker and darker and darker… A crow soared above the city.The Winter wind howled and the skies now lingered a vast expense of coal black. Curtains were draped over the dead city, like a blanket over a corpse. Dark clouds, that reigned the skies, periodically blotted out the moon; they looked like swollen cysts about to pop. The pungent smell of smoke emitted from chimneys permeated throughout the town, assaulting the noses of the passersby. Frowning, the freckled moon grieved. It was alone, just like the scarce stars that shimmered in the sky. Reflected in the canvas of jet black river, their yellow facets were displayed as the water jerked dreadfully.Surrounding the river, dishevelled bone-white buildings were scattered. They scattered around the labyrinth of city streets that veiled themselves in the stark white snow. Some protruded high into the skies, pretentious as ever; some stooped low, utterly bashful and shy. It was dead-still and dead-silent. Windows shut. Doors locked. Lights out. The shops were closed. The pubs were also about to shut. Before the grills went down, a woman walked out of the pub. She was wobbly and tipsy, hemming and hawing the direction to walk. One step… two steps… and she bumped into the trees aligning the avenue.The trees were withered. Their bare skeletal remains stretched out as if trying to help stand her in good stead. However, that was not the case… they were there only to bid the surroundings flowers farewell. The flowers were different- some flimsy, some stout. But one aspect stayed common: they were dead. The multitude of colours that once sparked the city like wildfire, was now gone. What they left was just a burnt brown. Only the blood-red roses bloomed. They were the funeral flowers that mourned their fallen comrades and for someone who was about to part… The woman.On this very night, something tragic will happen… She will faint.The woman was no taller or shorter, who had no outstanding features, and was as average as one could be on such a night. She walked amidst the avenue. She was draped thick with utter blackness- from head to toe. Crunch… crunch… crunch… Heavy steps. Her fists held tight. Her face- blood drained. It was as if she committed some cold-blooded sin. Capillaries coursed through her palms; she had sweaty palms. Her breath quickened and quickened- folds upon folds. Trudging away in the thick snow, she was lonesome. Suddenly, her vision blurred. She stumbled forwards and backwards, before crumbling like a marionette. The last thing she saw was a crow that flew above her.You might ask me: what does a crow represent? Death. I have been to the past, present and future – it will always represent death.The crow will die too, with the girl. I have rewound this scene over and over, I will tell you for sure- she dies and the crow dies with her.The murky black crow soared. The bird, no smaller or bigger than any other, was thin and stiff. Its wings flapped as it fought against the ravages of the gusts of wind. Its eyes gleamed a glimmer of hope. The grandfather clock in the living room ticked and tocked, as the crow lingered with all its might- awaiting demise. Fluttered… fluttered… and one last flutter. The crow dropped. Splat! The pure white snow was stained.Well, you see… you are all the same. As I continue my journey, you too will die yet when tomorrow brightens… the kids will still frolic. The cars will still honk. The larks will still sing. Tic-tock. Tic-tock. Tic-tock. One by one, I pass. The old, burnt-brown grandfather clock in the corner of the living room chimes. I pass… watching… with no stop… with no end.… I told you there was no need for an introduction.

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