The Intersection of Balfour and Aloma

DAY 1:

The world looked sepia tone, like a muted filter hung over the sun, casting everything in a dusty, yellow hue, the leaves of the bushes that decorated the front of the townhouses, now a puke green, and the sidewalk was an ashen, jaundice color. Ashley walked down the steps from her front door and squinted into the distance. She could see the sun glimmering off the cars soaring past the intersection on the road up ahead. It was as if this anomaly of color was localized to her block. 

She sucked in a deep breath and looked over her shoulder for one last quick glance, making sure the door was locked before starting off down the street. The world looked how she felt. 

Off.

Like a couple of crucial hues had been bleached out, leaving everything in her soul a dull, muted color. Every day for the past four years she made this walk to work, to the restaurant that sat just around the corner, and lately the monotony of her life was becoming unbearable. Still, what else was she supposed to do? 

The sun shifted out from behind a cloud for just a moment, just long enough to sear her retina before she cast her gaze down. There was a cigarette on the sidewalk—Camel blues—unsmoked, untrampled, perfect condition. And a few paces further there was another, and a few more paces after that, yet another. For the whole block there was a bread-crumb trail of cigarettes, fresh from the pack. Even after the sun had returned to hiding, she kept her gaze downwards, wondering at what had happened, that someone would lose so many cigarettes. Being a smoker herself, she felt empathy for the person.  Arriving somewhere and realizing you’d lost all of a ten-dollar pack. 

She only looked back up when she felt a sharp pain in her left temple, that crushed her vision to black, right before she reached the intersection.

DAY 2:

The world looked sepia tone, like someone had turned the vibrancy setting on the TV all the way down, so that even the pink azaleas that shook from the trees with each gentle breeze were a dirty, mauve color. Ashley walked down the steps from her front door and squinted into the distance. She could see the sun glimmering off the cars soaring past the intersection on the road up ahead. It was as if this anomaly of color was localized to her block.

There were cigarettes scattered in intervals along the sidewalk as she walked, the first intact, the second torn, and the third smashed. She looked down at them, wondering about the person who might have dropped them, until an approaching mechanical clinking redirected her attention.

A wheelchair was rattling down the slight decline of parking lot to the apartment complex on Ashley’s left. In it sat an old man, with jowls stretching down to his shoulders, a soft stomach plopped atop his thighs and perched on the very edge of his knees, a ratty looking dog. The man froze when he caught Ashley staring, but then his mouth crinkled up into a wicked smile. “Be careful up there,” he crooned. “That intersection is dangerous.” A chill shot through her spine, and as she quickened her pace, she heard the old man hollering after her. “Cars rip around that corner like bats out of hell. You best look both ways and wait.” 

She followed the trail of cigarettes down the road, each in varying stages of desiccation, until she got very nearly to the intersection, and she felt a wetness on her head. She stuck her hand out and looked up, thinking maybe it was raining a gentle mist, the type that is barely visible. But it was not, and the wetness was creeping across her scalp. She raised her hand to touch her head.

DAY 3:

The world was sepia tone, like someone had spilled the brush water on their drying painting, diluting the crisp lines and skewing the picture a dirty shade of brown. Ashley walked down the steps from her front door and squinted into the distance. She could see the sun glimmering off the cars soaring past the intersection on the road up ahead. It was as if this anomaly of color was localized to her block. 

There were cigarettes, damp and browning, scattered along the sidewalk, like the dashed markings on a dilapidated treasure map. The third one was smooshed but otherwise still intact, and Ashley stood over it, marveling at how it had somehow evaded the morning dew, so much so that she didn’t notice the old man in the wheelchair roll up beside her.

She jumped when he said, “Hand that to me, will ya?” 

She blinked at him. The dog sat on his knees, its head lolled to the side, tongue hanging out from a deformed jaw. Wordlessly, she bent and picked up the cigarette, but when she handed it to him, it fell right through his fingers, and soundlessly plopped to the ground beside another cigarette that looked the exact same.   

 “Damn,” he hissed. “Thought that’d work.” He rubbed the white stubble on his chin with his index finger and thumb. “I suppose since it’s yours…” He trailed off. Ashley took the opportunity to escape, wondering about the man. She’d never seen him before, and she’d been walking this stretch for the better part of four years. Surely, she would have noticed such a frightening looking man. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice she had nearly approached the intersection, until a searing pain shot through her head, and something trickled down her forehead.

DAY 4:

The world was sepia tone, like frosting had been stingily spread too thin across a confetti cake, so that the vibrant flecks of confetti were muted to half of their vibrance. Ashley walked down the steps from her front door and squinted into the distance. She could see the sun glimmering off the cars soaring past the intersection on the road up ahead. It was as if this anomaly of color was localized to her block.

She followed the trail of cigarettes halfway down the road, slowing as she passed a man who stood hunched, rummaging through the leaves collected in the crease made by the road and the curb. He’d sift through the foliage for a few moments, and then sidestep over a couple paces to a fresh pile to pillage.

“Are you looking for your cigarettes?” she asked. 

He paused, transferring slime and dirt onto his knees when he braced his hands. He exhaled and shook his head, but otherwise did not respond.

“I know what he’s looking for,” the old man said, and Ashley looked down at him sitting next to her, his lips curled up in a leading grin. She realized that his dog was missing an eye, the socket oozing out pink pus with each labored breath it gasped.

She moved to walk away.

“Watch out for that intersection,” he hollered after her, and she thought briefly that perhaps he’d put a curse on her, because her knees buckled underneath her, right as she took her final step up to the corner. She hit the ground, pain shooting through her entire body.

DAY 5:

The world was sepia tone, like looking at a movie from the thirties, knowing the colors should be bright but only experiencing half of the luster. Ashley walked down the steps from her front door and squinted into the distance. She could see the sun glimmering off the cars soaring past the intersection on the road up ahead. It was as if this anomaly of color was localized to her block.

A litter of tobacco was strewn across the sidewalk, with flecks of paper and filter scattered intermittently, the only signifier that they were once cigarettes. In the distance, she saw a yellow Mustang with black racing stripes round the corner slowly, hesitantly. As it got closer, she hissed at the distinct dent on the front bumper. Must be recent, because it drove down the rest of the street slowly, as if still reeling with caution from a fresh accident.

It passed two men on the side of the road. One was on his hands and knees, brushing the palm of one of his hands over the layer of dirt by the curb. “Are you sure she was wearing it?” he asked.

The other was skimming a metal detector over some piles of leaves. “She had to be.” His frantic voice was in stark contrast to the lifeless, monotone beeping of the machine he wielded. “It wasn’t anywhere in her house.”

“Well she said ‘no,’ didn’t she?” The first man sat back on his heels. “Maybe she threw it out or something.”

“She would do something petty like that,” the other man grumbled, before stretching up and throwing his head back. “God, why did I even waste all that money.” 

“Must be some ring,” Ashley said, guessing at what they were searching for, as she passed them, but got no response, so she continued on her way. Several yards from the intersection, she saw a long clearing in the traffic and broke into a run to try and get across, but right when she got to the curb, a flash of yellow blinded her followed by something dark and wet seeping into her eyes. 

DAY 6:

The world was sepia tone, like a vintage photo turned musty with age. Ashley walked down the steps from her front door and squinted into the distance. She could see the sun glimmering off the cars soaring past the intersection on the road up ahead. It was as if this anomaly of color was localized to her block.

She could see a man in a wheelchair halfway down the road, sitting at the parking lot entrance to the apartment complex, and as she approached, she heard the whines of the dog tucked in the man’s jacket, only its torn and bloody ear poking out from the neckline. The man’s eyes followed her as she walked past. “Be careful up at the intersection,” he said. “It’s dangerous.” 

She felt a chill up her spine and cast another glance over her shoulder at the man, finding that he was still staring. She quickened her pace, which she maintained until she was very nearly at the corner. A young man, no older than sixteen or seventeen, was crouched on the ground, sobbing over a freshly disturbed hole of dirt. What Ashley assumed was his car, a yellow Mustang with black racing stripes, was pulled to the curb behind him. “I’m so sorry,” he hiccupped. Over and over again he sobbed apologies. From behind, she watched as he opened his hand to reveal a sparking diamond, set in a glistening silver band. “I wasn’t thinking. I just thought…” he paused as the sobs racked him. “I just thought you wouldn’t need it anymore, and well, I’d have to pay for my car…” he trailed off. She watched as he placed the ring on the ground and used both hands to scoop a mound of dirt over it. “Anyway,” he swiped at his nose, smudging dirt across his upper lip. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about it all.” 

Ashley reached to lay a hand on his shoulder but paused when she saw the exact ring he had just buried, perched perfectly on her left ring finger. Then a flash of yellow blinded her.       

DAY 7:

The world was sepia tone.

An old man in a wheelchair was parked at the bottom of the steps from Ashley’s front door. “Do you understand?” he asked. His dog was beside the left wheel of his chair, whimpering, its legs askew in different directions, its head practically falling off its shoulders.

Ashley traced her fingers along the railing as she slowly descended. She looked around when she reached the bottom, from left to right, and then up at the dull gray sky, before finally settling her eyes on him. “So you’re dead too then?”