The sky is a placid dove gray. Teasing winds blow my hair away and back again and a mist of rain obscures my view.
The corpses of fallen leaves litter the ground. Their struggling compatriots flail miserably, all too knowing of their coming death.
It is once again, autumn.
I scrape my boots against the wet cement. I have a few more hours of peace and quiet before my mother returns from work. I don’t know why I choose to spend the time outside, but I do.
There is not a soul in the streets.
This is one of those autumn days when you feel thankful that you have a hearth and home and a roof overhead.
These kinds of days are the loneliest. You walk in the road, and there’s no one. No cars, no one talking, no footsteps.
Only the soft shush of leaves as they hit the ground, and the relentless battering of the rain.
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