Twomanybagels
Aim. For. The. Head.
It was dark, the night chilly with the soft gusts of wind that'd rattle leaves from their spots, howling in whispers. The small little park (affectionately called Daydream Square by its locals) was long empty since closing hours, now just a quaint little scene. It was hardly a spot worth visiting: It consisted of only 5 or 6 wooden benches, a few street lamps emitting soft warm glows, and a particularly old statue that didn't seem to be cleaned in awhile. Since it was situated amongst one of the more busier business districts, the park wasn't really all that known for its scenery, and hardly anyone frequented it with any purpose other than a nice outside spot to make a call or eat a quick snack. It would be pretty forgettable honestly, if it wasn't for the statue that stood in the middle.
The figure was of seemingly granite, of a tall woman holding up a lantern in a woven basket, her stance somewhat confident. She wore a dopey look of surprise on her face, as if she had simply turned her head to look over yonder -In this case, at the stop light of Hickory Ridge and K street. It looked like it had been years since it had been properly cleaned, bird poop hanging from her head of bouncy locs, and a crack or two forming on her face. Under her feet was a plaque of brass material, a cheesy quote about 'exploration' forever carved into its browning surface. The date said the statue was a gift to the city, made sometime in the early 1910s by a man named 'Charles Luther'. Latitude knew that was all false.
Being a statue was not fun at all. It felt like a waiting game, but that someone had forgotten all about Latitude and now she was here for no good purpose at all. When it first happened, and she found her body fixing into stone, the pain was just an ache beyond anything she felt before. Now she was numb to it, as if it was natural for her entire being to feel this sort of fatigue from standing so still. It didn't help that there was nothing to distract herself from the pain either. Everyday almost felt the same as people would walk by, admire the 'craftsmanship', maybe make a remark, and then leave. She didn't have that luxury, to just leave, but oh gods did she wish she could. Knowing her state and actively feeling it in the present felt more than just a cruel joke, it felt excruciating.
But it wasn't like anyone knew she was a person trapped to be a statue. How could they? They were just humans going about their daily lives, having their own problems to sort out. Latitude didn't expect to be saved anytime soon, a sentiment she unfortunately held onto for a long long time. So she expected this night to pass on just like the rest. After all, it wasn't worth much of a visit in the day time, much less the night. And Latitude often found that no one bothered to come by after hours, when the city lights were the only illuminations shining into the dim late hours. No one human anyways.
The figure was of seemingly granite, of a tall woman holding up a lantern in a woven basket, her stance somewhat confident. She wore a dopey look of surprise on her face, as if she had simply turned her head to look over yonder -In this case, at the stop light of Hickory Ridge and K street. It looked like it had been years since it had been properly cleaned, bird poop hanging from her head of bouncy locs, and a crack or two forming on her face. Under her feet was a plaque of brass material, a cheesy quote about 'exploration' forever carved into its browning surface. The date said the statue was a gift to the city, made sometime in the early 1910s by a man named 'Charles Luther'. Latitude knew that was all false.
Being a statue was not fun at all. It felt like a waiting game, but that someone had forgotten all about Latitude and now she was here for no good purpose at all. When it first happened, and she found her body fixing into stone, the pain was just an ache beyond anything she felt before. Now she was numb to it, as if it was natural for her entire being to feel this sort of fatigue from standing so still. It didn't help that there was nothing to distract herself from the pain either. Everyday almost felt the same as people would walk by, admire the 'craftsmanship', maybe make a remark, and then leave. She didn't have that luxury, to just leave, but oh gods did she wish she could. Knowing her state and actively feeling it in the present felt more than just a cruel joke, it felt excruciating.
But it wasn't like anyone knew she was a person trapped to be a statue. How could they? They were just humans going about their daily lives, having their own problems to sort out. Latitude didn't expect to be saved anytime soon, a sentiment she unfortunately held onto for a long long time. So she expected this night to pass on just like the rest. After all, it wasn't worth much of a visit in the day time, much less the night. And Latitude often found that no one bothered to come by after hours, when the city lights were the only illuminations shining into the dim late hours. No one human anyways.
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