A tale of two cities

He makes him feel alive.

In London, the dark streets smothered with impatience and the silent shuffle of black suits blur his vision as he paces towards his office. The grey clouds above swirl, and in his eyes they merge with the square pavement, the asphalt, and the stone, steel and glass towers. The Royal Exchange and its Corinthian columns bear the Greco-Roman qualities of autumn like no others. A cold breeze runs through the streets unchallenged, floating around black taxis, down escalator shafts and through his own jacket.

The monochrome bleakness of his surroundings drives and animates his thoughts. His brain, surrounded by robotic movements and disengagement, jolts inwards, implodes with thought and colour. His thoughts take over his senses, simulating powerful sensations and memories of times long lost; like an ex drug addict hit by a flashback each feeling tingles through his veins and sends a sharp pang through his hollow chest.

At his desk, the computer’s processor hums silently, almost imperceptibly. Hundreds of documents lie in neat folders and piles around him. He picks up a piece of paper. The font is uniform and small. The language looked familiar. His eyes search for the beginning of the first sentence, but just as he starts reading a dab of blue jumps at him, strikes him from between the lines. Like a watermark hidden behind the black ink. He bites his cud, pauses. His eyes struggle to readjust on the page. A few more words and the sharp pang hits him deep in his chest, again.

A page and a half later, he gives up. He closes his eyes, leans back in his chair. The dab of blue swirls in his head, like cotton candy. It creates a pattern, then a circle. An eye, an eyelid, an eyebrow- a face, a smile.