I served the visitor the single flower and he set out with a final tip of his hat. I saw him off from the doorway, watching his tall, dark hat mix with the remaining civilians without ever fully blending in. His head browsed the streets, but he never took a glance back. I imagine I must’ve had a curious expression, one of deep speculation, as I watched him casually stroll away, eventually turning a corner and disappearing.
Once I lost sight of him, I retreated into the shop and resumed my work. Checking the time, I hastened my daily procedure, bringing in the last of the stands and briefly assessing their remaining inventory. Collecting a basketful of expiring flowers, I locked the door and briskly retired into the streets, joining the waning stream of citizens. The streetcar was already on its way out as I reached the station a few blocks down the avenue. A few steps and a quick chase was sufficient enough to catch up and jump onto its bridge plate, gripping the handlebars tightly as the car sped up. It never drove very fast, but it did teeter quite a bit. Once I secured myself at the door, I turned around to watch the sun dip into the pluming smog from smokestacks across the river, lighting them on fire. The car whistled as it drove across the granite bridge and receded from the bustling district.
By the time I reached the eastern outskirts of town, the sun had dipped low enough to dye the sky deep orange. Here, the landscape gradually transitioned from bricks to fields. The interweaving streets converged into a single dirt path that solemnly snaked through the countryside, rupturing the crop fields into two halves. There were no tracks or power lines or the constant roar of engines. Only echoes of the city ever reached these parts.
The fields further gave way to uncultivated pastures of grass, where livestock lazily grazed wherever they pleased, inhibited only by their shepherds and the delineated line of stones that ran across the rolling hills. Standing a measly one metre tall, this simple wall separated civilization from the wilderness. A human’s way of leaving their mark. As it did with the fields, the dirt path split the stone structure and opened the town to the forest just a few dozens of metres yonder. A single oil lamp, dead of luminance, guarded the breach, swinging with the wind as it hung on its wooden post.
I saw, near the broken gate, three small figures sitting on the caps of these shallow walls. They were familiar faces—towns children who ventured to these outskirts in search of adventure. Since I walked by fairly often, they had come to expect me everyday, and entertained themselves with my presence.
It was the youngest who noticed me first; a girl of eight years old with short, brown hair. She laid on her belly atop the wall, her chin rested in her arms. The others sat staring out into the woods. When the girl noticed me from a distance, a mischievous expression came across her small face; a smile large enough to distinguish from where I was. She entrenched herself behind the wall, pointed my direction and cried out, “Hark! A beast approaches us!”