day o n e
2:03 a.m.
a soft sigh escaped from beside me.
i wiped away my silent tears, and after finding it useless, turned towards the sound.
a boy was sitting beside me.
"hey."
"when were you here?" i asked.
"just now."
"what are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"
"where do i begin?" he said, shrugging.
he ruffled his coloured hair.
"maybe because i find silence better than sound. or the fear of being with people. it drives me here, you know? the peace and loneliness here is comforting."
"so you're agoraphobic. wow."
"a what?"
"agoraphobia, the fear of being in crowded places or being with crowds."
"you can say that." he nodded thoughtfully. "so what brings you out here this late?"
"loneliness." i sniffled.
"why are you crying?"
"the serenity."
"oh. so you like complicated words, yeah?"
"yeah."
"maybe we'll see each other sometime soon."
he left.
i was still crying.
---
why does he leave so early?
YOU ARE READING
swing ➳ clifford
Short Story“swings are used by one only, but it needs the occasional person behind it to give a push.” © annette yes, lowercase intended and all that jazz. {please note that this is entirely fetus me}
