Watching the Sun

Hard to say without giving anything away! This could be the start of a longer piece, not sure yet...

 

The door closes. And then is locked. I hesitate in the corner, my back to the door the steel mesh encased window to my left and watch. The sky has turned grey; the masses have already left the streets so I wait. Wait for the right moment. And the right moment is so important. 

Waiting itself, of course, has its hazards, but it is better than walking the streets alone. The air too has turned chill as the sun left the sky but that is not as discernable as the chill within me, I am late, later than I had intended to be, later than I usually am which is why I had missed the safe time.    

The far door opens and another worker, I do not know her name she is not from my department, pauses in the opposite corner as behind us the store lights go out. The caretaker will be shuffling down to his tiny home deep in the bowels of the basement safe behind triple locked doors and hidden by cold concrete and steel. 

The moment comes; the soft patter of feet announces the arrival of a group travelling in the right direction. Silently we join them. We keep to the middle of the pavement, in a tight group, no one wanting to be the ones in front or behind. At a crossing point part of the group peels away the rest of us join those waiting for a break in the traffic. We stay in the centre of the pavement for the centre is the safest place, a good arms length from the kerb and the passing cars and an equal length from the shadows cast by the buildings.

The traffic passes in an almost constant stream of taillights in both directions; two lanes moving at a fairly constant pace not all with the same intention. But all with locked doors and clamped tight and blacked out windows, some to hide what is behind them others to disguise, to masquerade as something they are not. 

Further down the road the lights change and the flow pauses, this is our moment. As one the group surges for the halfway island. This island has no barriers, no safe zone so we huddle and wait for another moment. The huddle packs tighter as the fresh surge of traffic races by. Everyone wants to be home, to be behind locked doors and steel shuttered windows. 

The other worker, I’d see her sometimes in the canteen, is behind and to my right, closer to the kerb than I, I can just see her dusty blond bob and pale grey coat. Being shorter than most and in the middle of the pack I struggle to see and judge when the next break in the traffic will come. Behind us traffic flows, through that flow thread faster cars, more skilful drivers. When it happens it happens fast. A squeal of breaks, maybe a short startled squeak, the slam of a door and the scream of tyres under acceleration. Then nothing. Just the short-lived shock, the silence, the huddling together of the pack, the acceptance. And it happens. In a blink of an eye, a flash of lights swerving through the flow and the dusty blond in the pale grey coat is gone. 

There will be another job vacancy tomorrow. There is no shortage of jobs. There are no missing persons. The police will not be involved.   The authorities can do little but they are not powerless, they rely on the good people, for everyone watches everyone and no one trusts anyone except their own family and even that cannot be relied upon.   The police gather information, they can raid houses but usually they are too late and the culprits will have flown. The CSI units are little more than clean up teams with nothing to work on but decimated remains. Sometimes they can identify them, but it is rare. And there are so many. And the police have to be so careful. They have become executioners. Occasionally, just occasionally, they get lucky and catch one. Then justice is swift and for a short while there is one less of them. But only for a short while. 

The time comes, the traffic pauses and we cross as one. The group breaks, five to the left, the rest to the right. I stay tight and close to the middle. Here and there people activate their Halo Hats. I have no idea if they work or if they simply advertise their owner’s presence as they walk bathed in their ghostly pools of false daylight. Some stores claim to protect their customers with daylight lights and leave their windows lit, some groups flit from one weak pool of light to the next as they make their way home.  Others, like I, hide in numbers, dark colours, soft-soled shoes, while others put their faith in god – he can be contacted any time 24/7 – 365 on channel 39.

The numbers dwindle as, beyond the business district, key fobs at the ready people peel away into apartment buildings slamming the doors behind them. We are 8 … 5 … 3 …

The time comes; alone I turn the corner and venture down the street, my street, where part way down the hill is my home. One day, I dream, I will own a computer and will never have to face the danger, never have to run the rat race for I will never have to leave home again. Here on my street the traffic is less, down to the odd car, but still I stay in the centre of the pavement, head down, collar up, rueing the light coloured carrier bag that announces my lunchtime trip to the supermarket. 

The street is dark, silent, no lights show for people live in their basements. The lucky ones work there, live there, shop from there, never leave there, never seeing the sun and becoming as pale as the ones we avoid as they watch the years pass by on a TV screen. Some, like the caretaker, never leave their department stores, they live there, are born there, work there, die there, whole families, generations…

There is nothing now on the street, only me. I start to cross the road. The cars when they come, come fast, just a blur of lights and sound. One behind one in front. An open door. An arm. The snatch. The push of acceleration. The sounds of revving engines and responding wheels.   And a single memory, the sight of the receding carrier bag lying on the road spilling its load of milk and eggs on the asphalt as testament to how close I had got to sanctuary, to home, cut off by the slam of a door.

And all because I had missed the sun. 

Reviews

[Dave Lounsbury]

Very well written. Personally I found the short sentances a little jarring but that's just me.
I'd also recommend cutting out some of the redundant words. For example the last line.
"And all because I had missed the sun." could be 'And all because I missed the sun.'
Still a good story, I've going back into my own work and cutting out the unneeded words.
Keep up the good work.
Dave