Strange days

I walk down a narrow, high walled alley of some Mediterranean village. The sun beats down through the topless canyons, a harsh glow, warmth evaporated, an exuberant promise unkept.

Energy suddenly drains from me instantaneously, my legs sag and I flop against the blue wash wall, totally spent, the bag that I’m carrying falling limply to the ground. People stroll pass; some look at me, but through me, no recognition apparent, no friendly hand or aid. The remainder continue on oblivious. I’m not going any farther; this is where I’m going to stay, anchored to this ground, destination unknown and irresistibly unreachable.

Two young girls ride pass on bikes, they giggle as they pluck the sunglasses from my face. The sun flares in my eyes angrily, yet its heat still plays truant. Cute I think and wait for them to return them to me, but they don’t – they ride off, content with their spoils, unsympathetic to the fire in my mind. How could they? I ponder as if it really matters.

Time passes; an age; an instant. I return and I’m still affixed. I look down to my bag, the pound cake I was carrying is gone, no evidence of its existence, unless a bent clipboard and a crumpled piece of paper are a new confection.

I’ll go no farther I think, this is where I’ll stay.