City of Lights

Start your story with a character looking out of a window in the middle of the night.

He stares into the hollow eyes of the city skyline that seemed to have no end as he peered towards it, save for the fact that it would eventually end in his own reflection. The lights of the city are like stars in the sky just as the stars in the sky are like sand on the beach. They all have one thing in common in that they are absolutely and entirely different. Just as he had always been different. Impatiently he started upon the horde of man-made stilts suspending their light in those peculiar capsules from their tops which illuminate all that below. However, this would devalue the word illuminate, for the word itself has more passion and more pride than the lights of the street give it credit. No, the toothpicks that pierce the concrete jungle simply spew forth the light that fills the streets with a semblance of spittle upon a table where there is a man who is louder than he is wise. All criss-crossed along those roads the spittle fills the streets with a pitiful amount of light, but enough to scare off those who would prefer darker corners to do their deeds. The thought alone sickened him, that some people would use these shadows to hide their deeds. Not as much as those who commit their sinful and deceitful ways in plain sight. It was a sign of their weakness that those dastardly things they deceivingly intended to disembark on that they choose to hide them from sight. It was a sign of arrogance that some in suits preferred to conduct their backstabbing ways and offensive mechanisms of exploitation in the purity of the light by day. The darkness of the city, did at times proclaim through it's somber silence that it had other qualities to speak of, for it hide within it's folds a plethora of beauty as well.

It had a sense of calm that was quite a contrast to the wilderness and unfriendliness of nature. The streets simply rest in weary silence as they attempt to cool down from the heat omitted by all those that pass, be it on two, four or more wheels. The trees that silently salute the sidewalk and day by day alleviate some of the unfamiliarity that is created by the abstract spaces, abstract buildings surrounded by abstract faces. A cooling effect on the hot heads and hot pavement that is ever-pervasive in the hotter months of the year. It is simply resting and recharging it's batteries before it unleashes a horde of sounds and symbols toward you, unrelenting and as unfriendly as the aforementioned wilderness.

So, it is only in the depths of the night when the plague that is man puts their head to rest, that the city has some respite, some quality to it that is not derived from the visual appeal of the city but rather the emotion it invokes from it's being. It simply is and thus creates a sense of somber and delightful peace. The shadows playing a still theater with a cacophony of sounds derived from all sorts of notorious sources. A concrete jungle would imply that the city is almost insuperable, that it changes and evolves with every living thing that is within it. And instead of breaking at change, it bends with it, it sways and adapts. It takes new forms and is fluid, just as life itself is, just as all things are, have been, and ever will be: impermanent. All is changing, ever changing and to call it a jungle insults the jungle. It is a living, breathing thing the jungle and evolves and has a glory and splendor that no city can match. How many a city does not adapt, does not move with the times? Too many to count, as they struggle to adapt to any metric that might sway one way or the other. Instead of combating the symptoms of it's ills and woes, it combats the results that come from it. Why is that? Because man has pushed back against nature, against their very being. He felt it all around him as people listened more to their own words than to another's hearts. They looked past what made a person a person and instead adhered to ideas of how a person should be. They weren't living but they were alive. He closed his eyes and imagined the last time he was here.

The sky was a light blue and the clouds that danced upon it's surface seemed to be blotches of grey interspersed with freckles of white and the occasional Vista White streak. A container of people hurtling through the sky powered by two engines burning the leftovers of dinosaurs at high temperatures, the exhausts spewing out whatever is leftover into the air and gently sprinkling it on all those below. Little witches of the sky, piloted and guided on paths that hang like clothes lines in the sky. The launders of those skies perpetually stare into their boxes that tell them where they have to be at what time and how. Seeing the clouds dance their own dance as they wander like squids across the sky. The city was glistening with a freshness and a crisp air that was uncommon to see in the city. The greens were greener, the greys of the street even seemed to be more inviting. Even if it was hot, it was still inviting. The cafés gave way to smiling faces and it seemed that there were many more smiling places.

Looking upward would be the only solace you would find in this dreary city as if you were ever to gaze upon the horizon the entire weight of the city would fall upon you, now. A sigh came upon him as he took a breath and opened his eyes again slowly. Perhaps it was the remembrance of youth that gave him rose-tinted glasses as he looked out upon the city. The night was still there and all the stars stood in their places, never-moving. He peered into the depths upon the horizon and longed to see some semblance of untouched nature. Something that was free of the ever-choking stiffness of tendrils that spread upon the plains as it spread outward from the city. It's petulance was pervasive, piercing and in a sense even perverse for what it would ultimately do to your body.

He continued to stare and stare, keeping his gaze on the darkness until his eyes adjusted and he saw himself staring into his own eyes. He dared delve into the depths but as he realized he lowered his eyelids and became aware of the impermanence that surrounded all. A vivid reality that even he himself was impermanent... A knock came rapping on the door for it was knocking ever more but he had not heard it before as he kept his eyes fore.

"Come in," he rasped cool and calmly with a slightly hoarse voice and gently the door opened.

"Mayor, the crisis team has been assembled. We are waiting for you" A peachy voice with joy and optimism chimed in from the doorway but not a step further.

He nodded to himself and scratched his chin as he took one last glance at the city before him. He said the line in his head "the city before him" and shook his head. "No... I am before the city..." he pondered aloud.

"Sir?" The cheery voice came from the door, peering inward but not a step more.

"Nothing. Coming." He said and turned to the door, leaving behind him the sleeping city he adores.