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High and Low

By @DaOneYrOld

High and Low

Ice was the only sign of a February.

Every bit of snow on a street would be news, as well, as a man with a coat and scarf and a woolen cap, for a merciless heat came from a factory nearby.

Because of it, the peaks sky-scrapers were a rarity to see, and those up there have a life grey as the clouds that hug the towers all the time.

It was mystery what’d happen if there was no factory, for all. A man wouldn’t see a life different than this, wouldn’t hesitate about anything besides a shop, restaurant, a library occasionally. Everything else was of secondary importance.

Yet there was a child, one over there high up, face on the window and wondering where and what was down. For him, a win in the lottery it’d be if the clouds disappeared. He had no way down to the ground, so he desperately wanted to know it, a curiosity so strong it was that no word in the dictionary could describe it.

Why was he so special you ask? No one else thought like him, a spot in the gallery he’d deserve.

He’s escaped the cage of everyday thought that everyone was unconsciously trapped in and entered another dimension, being the first one to think in another way.

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