He looked up into the evening sky. Rays of the day’s last sunlight illuminate in somber, marking the day’s end with its wavering colours of orange, purple, and red. Another day has come to an end. Another night will start not a moment away. And another day will start at the end of this coming night, and the cycle will continue, not for eternity, but for quite some time, he reckoned.
In the blurry view of the intertwining orange and purple rays, he saw a trail of white high up in the sky. It is as if someone took a paintbrush and gave a lash of white paint on the evening canvas. He doesn’t know how it got there, but there it is, up high in the sky. His grandmother once said that those white stripes are signs of danger, for in the old days those stripes will be accompanied by a flash and a bang and death and pain. Everyone will run for their lives if they saw the white stripe. They deem it an ill omen. Once seen, one will be considered lucky to live and tell the tale of the horrific scene at the end of the stripe.
However, he does not feel fear from looking at them. Instead, he is filled with awe. A question jumps into his mind. What if the stories of the old days weren’t true? Or what if these stripes are not the same as those stripes of the old days? He never considered the stripes to be an ill omen. In fact, he stayed up all night just to see them. He realized that the stripes at night are varied in colour and faster than the ones seen during the day. That was one of the things that triggered the questions he now have in his mind. What if they are completely different beings and the ones he sees now do not bring with them destruction?
But as he thought that, the stripe dissipates into a blurry fog and with the setting of the sun, vanished altogether into thin air, swallowed by the ever vast sky. Oh, how he wished he knew what those stripes are. How he wished he could be there, up on top of the stripes, looking on to the horizon afar, not stuck down here on Earth.
22nd December 2015