The dark purple snow is slowly falling; it's as thick as ash. It is also not out of the realm of possibility that there may actually be some ash mixed in. There was a time when the snow was white here. Small handfuls of people try and pretend that they remember it being white. It is merely their mind playing tricks on them, and it was closer to a gray or brown colour then, than anything else. It's cold here; it has been cold here for very long time. The large dying sun fills the eastern sky as it sets. Merely providing light to the day, but emanating no heat. The air is full of the usual smells, rotten garbage, stale urine and aging asphalt. If you weren't paying close attention to a particular spot, at a particular moment you would be right to believe that this night was very much exactly like the thousand before it, or even the thousand before those. What made this night different? I'll get to that soon enough.
Labels: In the Beginning
