Mamma got mad, what if I’d been caught?
But it was a mistake. I got blinded, you see, by light gleaming off glass on the pavement. I wanted to touch it, parked my bike against one their lampposts, and reached out. Being in sunlight is like being in the presence of god, they say. But it hurt.
It served me right, mamma said, reaching out like that. We’re just silhouettes and shadows, she said. We don’t matter. Some don’t even notice us, wouldn’t miss us if we disappeared; the world would be a brighter place without us, some say.
In response to: Friday Fictioneers, 7 April, 2017
Image by: Jellico’s Stationhouse