October 1977 – strange prose

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october-1977-strange-prose

October 1977

A late October evening; everybody in town is rushing to the crowded stations, trailed by their long black coats flapping in the wind, trying to catch the last train home. I’m curious about their backstories. I’m trying to analyse their gait, clothes and facial expressions. I’m pleased to see some of them enjoy the rain. It’s almost enough to make me grab my umbrella and go for a stroll. But I abstain myself. I have a dozen papers to finish, but a cup of tea, my softest sweater, and the beautiful scenery, with people running around, perplexed and disappointed, will suffice.

The spectacular surroundings soothe my spirit, and I take a seat by the window to admire it all. The glass is dripping with raindrops. Two of them are racing down my window, and I feel like a child again. I gaze outside at the gorgeous views, seeing them through the eyes of a child. The lights bring back memories of Christmases spent with my family at home. The barren trees remind me of how much I used to despise autumn, both because of school and because it robbed us of the greenery. However, it became my favourite as I grew older and now I adore it. I love many things I used to detest.

I take another look at the tremendous buildings that frighten the child in me. Over me, dark clouds reign supreme. My daydreaming is interrupted by a loud thunderclap, and I am once again an adult. I didn’t realise I finished my tea as I was fantasizing.

I pick up the remaining pieces of my soul and decide to finish my paper. I take a seat at the table, where the sheets of paper are waiting quietly for me. Blank pages always frightened me. White abysses; they make me shiver. With a sigh, I dip the quill in the inkpot and I start writing: “A late October evening…“.

Quick note

This idea came to me on a rainy day last year and I fell in love with it immediately. Something I love about short prose is that you can get trapped in it. You can lose yourself in the story and come back to reality only at the very last full stop. It fascinates me how, without a specific list of characters or a determined action, the author can lure you into a magical scenery. I can be allured very easily into a story, especially if it contains the words September, October, November, autumn etc.

Also, last year, I discovered the beauty of autumn and October. Halloween, pumpkins, cinnamon, leaves falling, a good book on a rainy day and an oddly specific playlist for studying; what more could you ask for?

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