No Place For The Weak

By Veronica Streibel-May

From the moment she stepped out, a freezing sensation swept over her and it practically consumed her. 

As the sun was creeping up on the chaotic city, and with it the thought of what the day held loomed over like a dark cloud. The single spark of joy that bloomed in her mind was the smell of baked cinnamon rolls that would soon captivate her nostrils. Little did she know that soon enough the scent of gasoline would interrupt the sweet sensation of the freshly baked goods. As she shoved herself out the door, she reached for a jacket before leaving, hoping it would not only protect her from the winter chill, but also the feeling of loneliness living in this overpopulated city. From the moment she stepped out, a freezing sensation swept over her and it practically consumed her. 

Her stride was languid in an attempt to appreciate the contemporary buildings that danced before her eyes, yet still escaping her on days where her thoughts echoed endlessly in her mind. 

The juxtaposition between this hectic city and her hometown is uncanny. The constant tapping and drumming of elephant feet drowned out anything pleasant. The screeching of the hunks of metal flooded her ears like a tsunami. There was no hope of protecting or salvaging her damaged eardrums. Nonetheless this is the place where dreams came true. A place where she could touch the sky just as skyscrapers do. However they have bodies of concrete and cold glass while she has pieces of flesh stuck together.

With this thought swirling around, she needed to ascertain that next time, she would take an alley that didn’t send shivers down her spine or force the need to touch her pockets every two seconds. She knew this city was safe, but like all the buildings constructed here, people wouldn’t rush to help you. They stayed in their own lane, never looking left or right. Only when driving did they break this stereotype. People’s interpretation of the traffic laws as suggestions proved unfamiliar and strange to me.

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