Not much was significant about the lamp-lit street in front of him. The once pristine walls were shades of brown and what remained of the glossy white paint was clinging to whatever shred of pride they once held. There was something about the light casting shadows internally into the street that was reminiscent of an old stained Polaroid, taken on a humid day.
Not much was significant about the street, Which was why Andrew’s gaze was held by the sky, lit with powdery stars. He sighed inwardly, thinking how bland life on the ground is and what it must be like to float freely in the air.
“I want to be an astronaut,” Andrew said to his stately father who was unhappy to be sitting on his own doorstep.
“Why is that?”
“The sky is pretty”
Andrew’s father shot him a glance of exhaustion. The child was never practical, never prudent. The sky is ‘pretty’ indeed. As though this fact warranted a change of career.
“Space is vast, son. You can get lost in space.”
Andrew studied his father’s outline, glowing against the darkness of the night’s sky.
“Is that why the sky is black?” he asked.