The Rooftop
We meet on the rooftop of a skyscraper. Two figures in the dark. A dusty and unsuspecting location surrounded by the guts of the city. The moonlight greets us again, and not one of us says a word.
I open a scuffed up red door that accompanies us, my hand reached out to the handle like a familiar friend - I’ve been here countless times. I cant recall whether you’ve been here beside me recently or not, I stopped searching for you a while ago.
Inside, I lead you down a stair case. I can sense that you’re observing; hyper vigilance has overcome you; and given the crusty decor and flickering lights, I don’t blame you.
I give you a look to urge you that you must trust that I keep the most precious items safe from any prying harm or unwanted attention. A priceless diamond is less likely to be stolen in a scuffed up box.
We descend the stair case towards an isolated door, covered in various locks. If you knew the contents; the inhabitants of the room beyond, you’d understand the need for an overkill of security.
After the last lock gives in by use of a retina scan, unseen clicks of mechanisms echo inside the door.
I gauge whether you’re ready or not and decide to proceed anyway. I hope that my calm energy can be felt by you, as your anticipation is felt by me.
As we enter you are greeted by a familiar smell, you can’t place your nose on exactly what it is, but your body has already decided that it smells like home. The door gently clacks behind us. I know that you instinctively understand.
The sound of laughter and happiness permeates your soul, and ripples through the bones of your body, you shiver and stumble slightly, but play it off.
“I …didn’t know where else to bring them.” I tell you, feeling apprehensive about what you’re thinking.
“Who are they?” you quietly ask as you scan the bright and busy penthouse apartment.
You roughly count 30 beings, each has a distinct glow about them, like they’re lit up from the inside, yet they seem slightly translucent, like a memory.
All differing ages but mostly children, the majority of them are playing in pairs. Some forming small groups with each other. Few are sat alone, moody and waiting.
They are all so engrossed in their own activities and thoughts that they hardly notice us enter.
A group of teenagers huddle around a console, taking turns and falling about laughing. I roll my eyes at discarded drink cans on the floor, walk over like routine, and without looking grab a bin bag from a drawer on the way to pick them up.
Two young children are dressed in costumes and energetically squeal and giggle playing chase with each other.
The boy is zooming around in a cape, running so fast that the cape flies behind him, helped sporadically by the flick of his hand to ensure the material gets sufficient air.
The girl is dressed as a cat and predicts his movements, pouncing to meet his speed, surprising them both when she catches him.
As he wriggles free and zips past you, he trips and meets the ground in a small but magnificent heap.
Stillness falls over the boy as he is hidden under the black cape. You crouch down, offering a hand asking if he is okay. You take his smaller hand and another shiver of familiarity travels through you.
This isn’t the first time you’ve picked yourself up.