Jackson couldn't believe he was back in the town that made him. The town that pulled him out his teenage garb and shoved him into big boy clothes way too soon, ruffling him up along the way. He didn't want to be back, but his late mother needed him to sort out everything she had neglected. It wasn't a little bit. He loved her, no mistake there. He was just tired. It was all too much at once. That's how Jackson found himself walking about and remembering all the shops that used to be, still was and marvelling at those that were brand new. He walked until he saw the sign that the subway was being demolished in a few days. He went down, ignoring the tape closing off this subway station. He remembered all the late trips, all the tiredness, all the excitement. The walls, covered in graffiti, dull with forgotten life. If walls could talk, they would have told stories better than any historian ever could. Of course, he never expected to see someone else down there. A stranger was staring at the train tracks as if waiting for his ride that would never arrive. Never again. The silence around both of them were comfortable though. It was as if both knew they didn't have to break it. In this limbo they had all the time in the world and no time at all simultaneously. It was the end. An accepted end. They turned to Jackson just then, nodding once and disappearing into the same darkness they appeared out of. A soft, warm wind trailing behind, gently caressing the last human to care enough to say goodbye. He nodded back, smiled sadly and whispered his thanks back. As he left too, it felt very much like closure.
About the Author:
Atlas Booth is a writer who lives in Cape Town, South Africa. He enjoys an assortment of teas and cold-brew coffee. For more information on his work, visit his website: https://atlaslbooth.wixsite.com/main
This piece is part of Issue Two: CHRONOS. Read more like it here.