It is a journey I have made many times. By day. By night.
Now I make it again, only this time, as I rise from the bowels of the city, I feel my stomach rise with it,
and my heart rises, into my mouth. I rise from the city step by step, upwards into the amber light, leaving the city behind, a kaleidoscope of glitter and darkness. Cold wet leaves on cold wet stone. Step by step. Shoes scuff and slip. Breath burns out in cold clouds. Heart beats. Muscles sear. Numb toes stub hard on errant cobbles, though I know these streets. The climb is hard, though this too I know well. The night is young; yet the darkness is full-grown. I rise through it. Step by step. And as though emerging through mountain cloud I emerge on the platform and am bathed in golden light, breath heavy, triumphant.
I wait for you.
I am going to write a story of some variety, long or short, fictitious or factual, every single day for a year. Wish me luck.
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