We all run from our roads.

Once, I walked across a road–
A road that I had crossed as a child,
A road that I knew well. 
But that day, the road was oddly quiet.
It was quite peculiar, thinking back.

There was not a single person
Not even a brush of wind
Not even a chatter of birds 
That used to fill my ears with joy.
It was almost as if time had stopped.

Then, I saw a tiny dot far away.
As I approached the dot,
I realized it was 

A girl.

A little girl, about eight years old
Wearing a simple white dress.

Her purple eyes were fixed on me-
No,
eyes can’t be purple.
It was probably the light.
Anyways, 
there was a fierceness in her eyes
That I wouldn’t expect from a child,
Especially from 

A girl.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.
Just walking.
“You shouldn’t be out so late,”
It’s morning.
“No, it’s the evening.”
What makes you think it’s the evening?
“It’s dark and nobody’s out and about. 
You, especially a girl, should not be out at this time.”
And what makes you think I’m a girl?
“You’re wearing a dress… stop this nonsense.
What is going on? 
Things aren’t supposed to be like this.”

At those words, her fiery eyes suddenly lost their fire.
This place has changed.
You know that.

Her eyes were filled with sadness.
It was as if she was… 
pitying me.

“No, nothing changed,” I said angrily.
“Today is just a strange day.
The road will be normal by tomorrow.” 

The girl shook her head.

Things have changed.
The past is the past. 
Nobody crosses this road anymore.
Not a single person
Not even a brush of wind
Not even the birds that used to sing to your ears.
No one.

At this point, I knew the girl was deranged.
I quelled down my anger
And pat her small head.

“You’ll know better when you get older,” 
With a teasing poke to her forehead
I continued on my way
Across the road.
I walked

Walked

And walked.

When the girl had turned back
Into a mere dot in the distance,
I started running.

Running

Running

And running.

My hair slapped against my face.
The winds greeted me.
I heard a distant bird calling.

See? She was wrong.
Everything was still in place.
She was just a little girl blabbering absurdity
As little girls usually do.
It can’t mean anything, 
Could it?

Process

Interestingly, I was inspired by my Fiction Workshops to write this poem. I’ve always liked to have a story-like element to any medium of writing I chose to pursue. Thus, I chose to fully inhabit my role as a storyteller in this piece. In this poem, it is not I who tells the story–it is the narrator. I chose to explore certain themes and values within our society through the lens of society, and even myself. I believe, in a way or another, everyone will be able to understand this piece.