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  Table of contents Issue Twenty-three JUST ANOTHER ANGIKUNI LAKE



here was only one road away from all of this – I-25. My rear-view mirror a mere shell of itself held together by ingenuity and silver duct tape; roads crowded my vision for a long time as they were balanced against a backdrop of a high, soft purple sky as a bloated orange sun hung solely in the darkness of the clouds, becoming pale and being made slowly irrelevant by a new moon. I am disturbed by the nothingness yet, beyond despair, I am reminded of something much worse. How does this happen overnight? I can’t help it, I think of this city where ashes shimmer from the desolation of a once restless steel leviathan.

I visit one of those houses in the depilated city; a misrepresentation of better times caught in cobwebs that radiate with intricate beauty. Dust lay undisturbed beneath, around and all over crumbled walls. The outside is worse, decrepit store-fronts gaping into the streets. At that moment, the savage gales of yesterday brush my back, piercing my senses and forcing me to apperceive the slow exodus that partook. Barring no benevolence, I am simply a ghostly silhouette of my exemplary self.

Today, a changed specimen, I ponder. Will that sense of inevitable good triumph over evil come to me? Will I believe that things will be right again? Will I find it possible that the city will become a city again? And where did all the people go?




David Anderson is an author from Toronto, Canada.

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