POV First Miserable
I stand in damp grass. Staring beyond dripping trees, spilling the last autumn leaves. Cold. Shoes muddy. The shadows swallow me. My hand resting on the baby blue fence. Peeling paint. Railings slicing up the river. Metallic football bobs downstream. The sun heaves from the wounded mist. I screw up my eyes. Looking away. Seconds overlapping. Taking a coke from my pocket. Still cold from the shop. Sawing into my throat. Trying to eject the numbness with caffeine and sugar. The bottom of my trousers damp, the colour of potash. I turn away, fingers slipping over the dripping railings. Journey on replay. Counting each heavy footstep.
POV Third Happy
He stands in damp grass. Watching the mist caught up in the trees dripping onto last leaves fallen. In a space under the branches. Chill air breathing out. Filling up the mist. Looking beyond the railing to a turbulent river. Rushing. A metallic football bobs. Catching light as the sun untangles itself from the grey. He screws up his eyes. Face to the tickle of warmth. Splashing. He doesn’t seem to notice the dark rings at the bottom of his trousers where the grass has offered up dew and soil. He checks his watch and crosses the wide bridge. Arms swinging as he heads up the hill.