Prose

Silent Queens Road

By: Gianni Zorrilla 

       As I stood at the edge of the dark, early morning road, a wave of introspective thought washed over me. I was among my last moments in the city, and a train passed with a low rattle overhead. Its five a.m. passenger count was peculiarly low; for I only espied a sole rider. I wondered where he was going. I wondered whether he had a destination in mind, or was merely on board for shelter; perhaps the feeling of somewhere. Maybe the destination did not matter.

       Regardless of the intentions of the solitary passenger, the concept of “somewhere” resonated with me well after the train disappeared into the east. Among the dim streetlights and humid air, I wondered if  “somewhere” was the place in which one attained a sense of belonging, or simply ceased to be at all.

       I thought to myself that every place in the city is essentially a microcosm of the city itself. There are places of the lonely and astray— the man on the subway cart. There are places of the observant and restless— myself, upon that silent Queens road. The totality, or macrocosm, is an entity well beyond the restraint of order. Simultaneously, all is still and all is chaos. In that present moment I was an element of that which is still; Stillness among ever-diverging direction—The train traveling east, the wind blowing past my fixated gaze.  

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