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Creative Writing (No Title Yet)
At that moment I realised the grass isn’t always greener on the other side…
The hot, clammy steam wheezed out of the insulated paper cup, the lively sun glared down on the pavement as I walked out of café coco. The glimmering emerald playing fields across the block seemed to welcome all the youth. I pull myself away and march along the gloomy street rich with muted colours. The street is enclosed by high standing levels of apartment blocks and small street side shops. The smiles of shopkeepers and bypasses warmly acknowledge me, I respond with an unwelcoming smile. Startlingly, I feel a vibration in my left pocket; I pull out a black brick that flashes ‘Caitlyn calling.’ At that moment, I feel something calling me from behind; I turn around and peer down to the boarder of my suburb. I humongous bright billboard is staring at me. It displayed a picture of the new generation phone and its surrounding lights illuminate the words “the grass is greener on the other side.”
I am instantly brought back to reality by a scent coming from an opening garbage truck. This same scent follows me back to my apartment. As I open the door to my apartment I push back the bushes that are slowly engulfing it. I drop my satchel, clunk my phone on the counter and walk to my bed. Without looking and facing the wall I trustingly fall backwards and sink into my bed. It feels like a cloud as I pull myself under the covers and feel a sense of connection with the soft and gentle fabric.
I feel uncomfortable as I open my eyes to realise that I still have my same clothes on. Unwillingly I pull my body of my bed. As I leave my utopia of serenity and fulfilment, I get an immoral urge. An urge takes me down the apartment bounded main street to the end of our suburb. When I stood under the colossal billboard it belittled me, I looked up at the other side and could now see the rusty metal infrastructure holding up this sign. I hadn’t been down this of town before but for 8 o clock in the morning it seemed so bare and barren. Expecting the rush of men and women in suits I walk into a nearby coffee shop, it was almost hostile, no paintings, no smiles, no one. Nervously, I back out of the shop to leave this place; I walk parallel to the billboard to meet a taxi. As I lower myself into the taxi I get a glimpse of a few teenagers smoking and leaning on the soccer posts at the playing fields. Looking out the window I watch the organise rows of units go by, as I see the cemetery; I close my eyes and tell the taxi driver “just let me out here.”
As I lift myself out of the taxi I divert my eyes from the dark symmetry and look down my street, to my home. Feeling much more comfortable I walk slowly walk down the street and wonder at the beautiful flowers and garden pouring over the verandas of the apartments. The same familiar faces are welcomed with a smile. Everything around me seems so welcoming. As does the man sitting down at his handmade stall, ever so naively I have always seen past this stall. Feeling a new sense of acceptance I hand the man 3 dollars. Before I even place the money down a steaming cup is already waiting for me, the bearded man ushers it forward. A certain interest in me was confirmed by the look in his eyes. A little rosy, I smile and walk away. Slyly looking back I strangely notice a rather large line form in front of the stall. Regardless, I kept walking with a smirk on my face that had not surfaced in a long time. Almost everything reminds me of my mother; she left a gap in my life that nothing can seem to fill. All I have left from the house fire is her bed, our gateway to each other.
As I reach my apartment, I turn around and squint my eyes; the previous mirage of utopia is now just a desolate block of land. As I pull the door open I smell the sweet fragrance of honeysuckle flowers. Realising the need for a shower I gaze at my empty coffee cup to reveal a small piece of paper with the numbers “0412395422” on it. With a smile on my face, I gently fold it and place it in my top pocket.