Preisha Writes

Down in the subway, the wind shrieked as if in pain. It prowled the underground, shadows and concrete barricading it into twisted halls and service crannies.

Duncan was late, only two minutes until his train arrived. The wind flew past his ears, deafening and cold. As commuters pushed past him, bumping shoulders and muttering excuses, he simply stood and stared to his left. There, by the dirty stain and the rubbish bin, was a plastic bag. Abandoned, it floated aimlessly over shoes and floor tiles.

Duncan continued to stare, chasing the white bag with his eyes and missing his train. He felt somehow connected to the floating trash, feeling he had lived his entire life blindly, chasing things that didn’t seem to make a difference.

He thought it was a moment of awakening, the time he gained a knowledge that was essential to life.

Duncan believed in this fantasy so wholeheartedly, he wanted to have something special to cling onto so desperately, that he never realized that living without making a difference wasn’t such a bad thing.