The Lifeless Lakes of Isolation

Lifeless Lakes of Isolation

It was an average day. I woke up with drops of sweat crawling down on me, so again I decided to bathe in the shallow lifeless lake that was drained. Drained of something good?

I wouldn't know: lifeless lakes are all that I know.

The crunchy brown colored leaves floating within the moldy dark green water, so insecure. It's insecurity forcefully gave me shivers. Hot shivers, that is.

It was weird to me-- even though I clearly know it's illegal to read or look back into history, also known as the 'good old days', I did, once. Before my grandpa died, when I was little, not being able to contain my curiosity, I remember tiptoeing into his room and sneaking behind his back to take a peek at the illegal pictures he had still kept from his childhood.

The crummy brown glazed photos looked as if I had just taken a step into a daring fantasy: he was actually wearing a jacket! The freshly fallen snow looked so pure. I couldn't remember the last time where it wasn't in the 100s.

"How could being happy be looked at as a crime?" I chuckled to myself, then remembering what R.P. had told me when we were younger, " I believe that the 45th president of the United States, Mr.Duck- wait no, or was it Trump, something like that. Anywho, apparently, he wasn't so strong on climate control. I blame this weather on him. It sorta caused a domino chain sort of thing."

Although I still believe that he picked the line up from someone he once heard say and copied their words, it wasn't like him to break the law. I still couldn't believe he looked back all the way to 2017. I was just thankful that no police officers or police tattle tales were nearby.

Sometimes, I keep thinking that I made up that scenario of me in my grandpa's bedroom; snow in 2099 is as rare as the government actually sending my US citizen's uniform in the right size.

"J.D is that you?", asked R.P.

I was born with the name Jordan Dellino, but it's only legal to go by your initials. Since R.P is not part of my immediate family, I don't know his full name, although in secret I call him Frosty. Only kidding of course -- he's as hot as ice. We were only allowed to call people by their actual last names if they were respected elders, top workers or leaders.

"Nahhhw it's Superman," I replied.

"Haha, you always know how to make me laugh, J.D. Later tonight what do you think of coming down to Fifth Avenue and feeding the animals in my father's barn? I know you love riding the horses."

YESSS! I thought to myself, but trying not to sound desperate, I looked straight at him, gave him a warm, yet crooked smile, and nodded my head upwards.

"Awesome! Can't wait to see you later," he replied. As he left, he was jumping up and down, kind of like how little girls do when they get all excited.

I lived on Ninth Avenue. It was where the middle and lower class people lived. There are only three Avenues in my sad, helpless and beat downtown: Fifth, Seventh, and Ninth.

My dream is to live on Fifth Avenue so that when I clap, the lights could open and close by just the sounds of my own hands. In this town, it's a privilege to be privileged.

I took a long way home, passing through Fifth and Seventh Avenues. For some reason, all I could think of were my attempts at recreating the past, thinking whether or not the bedtime stories that my grandpa used to tell me could have been true- was America actually a free country almost 100 years ago? It all seemed like lies... could it be that this totalitarian government under "President" Black was once actually free before?

" F-r-e-e !" I shouted from the top of my lungs. Wow... if so, it must have been great to shop for your own clothes AND... EVEN...WEAR ...MAKEUP!?