Ficlets

Walking down the shining wet streets of this bleak city, it is easy to believe what the people are whispering in darkened doorways; that the sun itself has forgotten how to shine.

For over a year now, the sky has been an endless parade of threatening gray. Nobody knows why. It wasn’t pollution, or any of the other man-made problems that we expected it to be. One day they rolled in, as if part of a storm front.

They never left.

I police the streets as is my assignment, but I take little joy in the process. Fear rules every step, the only movement after night fall coming from the rats that patrol the streets and sewers. My boots sound unnaturally loud as the hard rubber meets the pavement with a steady staccato rhythm. A rusty sign scrapes against the brick, heeding a warning that hardly needs to be reinforced any longer. An ironic chuckle escapes me, but it weighs heavily on my heart. No Ball Games.

Even if there were any children left, they would have no wish to gather in these streets to play.