For those of us who rather read than politic.

The busy street buzzed with activity, even at this late of an hour; not that he could hear it anyways because of the pounding noise blasting from his headphones. In a kaleidoscope of light the street lights before him fluttered from green to yellow to red. The cautionary orange hand remained solid, though it was safe to cross. He stepped from the curb onto the pavement, walking briskly across the street.

He hadn't been walking long, but his shoulders ached under the immense weight of books and his computer. His head pounded from the noise, yet he did not turn down his music, it gave him piece of mind: an attempt to overthrow the loneliness. The dull orange street lights lit his path forward; every where he was bathed in the unclean light. It loomed above, oppressing and belittling him. It startled him from time to time, the multiple shadows it threw seemed dangerous, his ashen doppelgängers waiting to overthrow and convert him to a shadow.

Further ahead he reached a small pathway running through the city. The bike path was rarely used, the exhaust of the city long ago claiming the lungs of cyclists and walkers alike. He paused for a moment at its mouth, its black emptiness spread far ahead fading into to the horizon. Shifting his gaze from the dull dashed line to just above the horizon, the ghostly orange light dissolved into the perfection of the government building. Surrounding the building were stark white spotlights, their beams stopped by the immense thunder clouds holding their fire. The spectral beams of light remained vigilant awaiting the moment the clouds would break when they could shoot their blinding light to the heavens.

Photo credit: Dori, Taken in Madison, Wisconsin

Once more he began to walk without purpose, the sight causing him to shake his head and carry on, his head down. He reached for his music device and absent-mindedly switched to a random song, luckily one of his favorites. The beat changed drastically, the slower melody gently caressed his eardrums. He entered into the cold orange light once more.

A few blocks later before he were to turn, he opened his mouth and breathed in a gulp of the chilly night air, the cold tingling down his throat. He wiped his running nose and rubbed his numb ears, hoping to kindle some sort of warmth in them. Then he rolled his neck, the weight of his pack still tugging on his shoulder and neck muscles. With his head inclined, the soothing tension momentarily released, he noticed something he had not seen in months.

In the patch of sky he saw there were no planes, no stars, and no beautiful sky from horizon to horizon. In its place stood an enormous bank of thunder clouds, the same clouds over the government house. Yet, something was different. These clouds were different. Their blackness was not pierced by the orange oppression, by the white destruction. No, they were untouched by the likes of man. They slowly rolled, one edge nearly undecipherable from the others, their blackness was so full and complete; it was pure.

A singular lance of lightning dashed across the sky horizontally. The earth shaking crack of thunder followed rapidly; the wind begin to slowly whip up and twirl loose leaves on the sidewalk. He looked down and realized he had been standing in awe for an unknown amount of time; he could not recollect how many times the light had changed at his crossroads, how many times he had disobeyed the command to walk. He lowered his gaze to his shoes as if urging them to move when he saw the struggling flap of a maple leaf, red and withered, attempting to join the fray of fluttering leaves. His shoe was resting on its stem, restricting its movements. He felt a sympathetic twinge for the leaf and lifted his foot, the leaf immediately launching into the sky with a renewed vitality he had never known.

All at once a jagged line of lightning shot across the sky, a tremendous boom rattled windows, and the welled up waters of a dry summer let loose in a torrent of rain, drenching him almost immediately. He methodically stopped his music, removed his headphones from his ears, put up his hood to cover his head and stood for a moment longer. He looked to his left, his destination merely blocks away, then he looked forward. His feet moved of their own volition. They carried out the will of the boy, whether he knew it or not. He walked towards the looming thunderhead, he walked to the chaos of pure darkness, he walked away from the oppressive orange: he walked forward.