My brother and I walk the crowded streets. People by us hurry pass without so much as a 'How do you do?'. Some have their heads downcast, looking at the slippery pavement. Others have their heads held high, and their eyes are hard and cold as the day feels. All have something in common; they keep walking.
My brother and I hold the umbrella together. His hands are dark and worn but strong against the test of Time and the New Age, while mine are pale with blisters and bruises from constantly fumbling with things I shouldn't. He tells me to stop, but I never do. It's because of him I do it. I don't blame him; I blame the Cause of him. I don't focus on the blame so much. My breath is shaky and labored, as it always is and has been. I choose to keep working; keep trying. Oddly enough, it doesn't feel like much of a choice.
I have many friends here. It is New York City after all. Life's tough here; so much money for an apartment, so much money for a cab, so much money for entertainment. But the money is only the beginning of the journey.
I look up from the lines on the sidewalk and look at the faces. To a normal person, they would always look alien and new every time they walked the street; but to me, they are oh-so familiar. I don't see anyone smile. I do not remember the last time I did. My short, blonde hair is wet with drops rolling like morning dew on a leaf; a cab sprayed me earlier when I was rushing frantically. My nostrils can't escape the smell of gasoline and pollution. Sounds of the city fill my ears; sounds of beeps from cabs and buses, yells from vendors, and faint sounds from the mammoth screens can be heard if one strains hard enough. A cry can be heard. I snap my head towards the sound. My brother Pain has now met the little girl on the cold gravel. The girl must have tripped. She swallows her tears and stands up and took her mother's hand and walked on. I guess I won't be meeting her soon.
Maybe later then.
We keep walking around the city, spotting familiar faces just about everywhere. We enter Central Park after some period of time. We don't use minutes or hours; we only go by decades and centuries and millennia. The sun has come out of his hiding spot behind the clouds and the water on the ground is beginning to dry. It's no longer pouring as it was some time earlier. There are no blankets on the grass but the soaked trees look like figurines against the tall skyscrapers. They almost look out of place. There is one lost soul in the park; a young man, most likely in his early twenties, sits on a drop covered bench. He is reading something wearily yet fervently. His pale lips are moving as he holds the paper close to his face.
"May we sit here?" I ask pointing to the two spots on either side of him. He looks up and looks at us. He doesn't recognize me, but he notices Pain. He nods. I take the spot on his right, and Pain takes the spot on his left. I fix my wrinkly skirt. Pain nods in mild recognition; he knows everyone, but he knows some people better than others. "What do you have there?" I ask. My breath trembles and the cloud can be seen in the air. The young man sighs and a cloud comes and fades.
"A screen play. I am gonna audition tomorrow." A new actor, huh? We'll get along just fine.
A drop falls from the sky and unto his script. Before the rest of the drop's siblings follow, Pain holds the black colored umbrella over the young actor wannabe. Black is the absence of light, without any color. Or is it all of the colors together?
"I've been practicing day and night, but this director is one of the toughest, which says a lot. I dunno if I can this," he says. It seems my younger sister Despair may have met this man.
"Why do you want to be an actor?" Pain asks. There are moments Pain is quiet, like this, hardly even there until he begins to yell and scream. He can be louder than a thousand choirs, but not a pleasing to the ear, or the arm, or hand, or heart, or mind.
"… I think, it's because I've always wanted to see what it's like to be other people. To get in their heads, it's a whole new world. That's why ever since I was a kid, I've wanted to be an actor." The lad looks down at his paper. Where the drop landed the ink spreads like a disease. "But it's harder than I thought; I can barely pay rent, so I work all the time. I can't find a whole lot of time to practice. Plus I have college loans to pay. I don't know what I'm gonna do." He looks up from his dampening paper and looks at me, as though finally taking a full look at me. His eyes are blue with flecks of grey. Blue's my favorite color; it reminds me of my cousin Sadness. Grey is a good color too; reminds me of Apathy. "What's your name?" he finally asks.
My pale hand laps over Pain's when I hold the umbrella with him. I let a small smile show. "My name is Desperation."