Magic Carpet

S.K. Nicholas

S. K. Nicholas


Beneath the snow by the side of the road, there’s a promise of what you could be. A future butterfly. A bud waiting to shoot into some kind of new moon that will brighten these cold and biting days. Here and there, a bird comes down from the sky and looks about before returning up high. Sometimes, a bewildered looking cat will appear. They glance at me, and I glance back, and for a second, there’s a mutual understanding of our confusion before we go our separate ways. The town is so quiet. Everyone’s been told to stay indoors. There’s little traffic, and as such, the roads are eerily deserted, so much so that I take to walking down the middle of them because there’s less chance of slipping over. The colour of the sky is vaguely pink, and when I stare at it, I see an ocean of flowers…

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