By Divya Chandrasekaran
The vast hospital parking lot lurks among the shadows. Its asphalt blends seamlessly with the dark horizon beyond. The sun continues her peaceful slumber, tucked just beneath the skyline. A dim flicker escapes a street lamp hundreds of feet in the distance.
Suddenly, a passing ambulance lets out a violet shriek. An earsplitting tone echoes through the empty roads. It’s a desperate attempt to arouse the sun from her deep sleep, a futile outcry for her light. In hot pursuit of the sun’s warm embrace, the death mobile speeds towards the skyline, growing faster and smaller, faster and smaller.
Just one day before, the sun had hung low in the sky over the same parking lot, cushioned by a great swath of cotton. The two elements had collaborated with one another, exchanging painting techniques and combining brush strokes to decorate the sky a bright Pepto Bismol pink. Then, nighttime pounced. The sun was forced to separate from her cloudy companion, and she sank towards the horizon. Their whispers grew fainter, the rosy backdrop softened, and soon enough, all that remained was gentle silence.
Hours have passed since the sun’s rendezvous with the cloud. Darkness now suffocates the hospital parking lot, filling each inch with a black void. A car approaches and occupies a vacant space, tainting the area with the sour scent of gasoline. The gravel emits a soft crunch as it’s grated by the tires. The engine’s soft rumble ruptures the eerie silence, and the sun still refuses to awaken.
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