the encounter

I walk.

Down a sullen street in a grey city.

All around me is still, frozen, lifeless; the cars in the middle of the road, the people on the footpath, the token trees planted to bring life to dead concrete, all frozen still. Not a whisper reaches my ears from any source, save that of my own reluctant footsteps. Not the slightest breeze is to be felt. The stillness is unnerving.

The tiger eyes me warily, as stunned as I at the silence. We pass each other slowly, cautiously. I look into its eyes, and it reads my thoughts in mine, until we have passed each other and we turn, going on our way. I hear it turn after me as I walk on and it follows me, hesitantly following me with faltering steps of uncertainty. Does it read in my eyes that I would want to turn, to encounter it again, to lock eyes with it again? Does it wonder why I do not, regarding my continuance as coldness?

In this silence, the echoes of tumultuous dreams resound loudly, but the sun shines high above the grey, beyond the reach of the echoes. It is the sun that lights the street, thwarted by man's construction, but where is man now? Still, frozen, lifeless, silent, and motionlessly beckoning me to turn back to that which moves too. But the sun lights the path ahead.