A Quiet Evening

The quick, quiet sound of rain amplified the footsteps of a young woman, barely over 16. The formerly sleek, black hair covering her head reverted back to its wild curl as the rain poured down on it. She was clothed in a wardrobe that screamed glamour; the perfectly applied makeup on her face (now slipping into a melt of mascara and lipstick) hinted at newfound luxury. Her shoes fit her beautifully; they were custom and had cost her more money than the entire rest of her ensemble.

The streets of New York City were, for the first time in centuries, quiet. She walked through the ghost town of a city. Apartments and penthouses sat abandoned, waiting for the hellfire that was to come. The only sounds on the street were the clicks of the girl’s heels on the wet pavement and the hiss of a cat, probably left for dead by its owners.

With a gorgeously manicured hand—the nail polish was purple and bright against her brown skin—she pulled open the glass door of a small, cozy ice cream shop. It was deserted but obviously left in a rush: things were spilled all over the counter, the tip jar was still full of $10 bills, and a turquoise puffer jacket hung on a hook next to a tall potted plant.

Her brown eyes lit up at the rows of fresh ice cream, kept cold under a glass covering labeled with flavors. Her eyes roved over all of them until they found chocolate chip. The girl walked behind the counter and spotted the cups and ice cream scoops; she proceeded to fill up the cup with the chocolate chip ice cream until it started dripping. She carried the ice cream to a small wooden table set in a corner by a wide glass window and peered out of it. The sky was still a dreary, rain-muddled gray.

She plopped onto a cramped, plastic stool and, from the folds of her cashmere jacket, pulled out the sixth book in the Harry Potter series. The pages were folded, brittle, and written on: the telltale signs of a book essential to the girl’s heart. Her eyes settled into the steady rhythm of reading and her hands quickly flipped through pages of magic. Hours passed.

She was jolted out of her cycle of consuming the melting ice cream and reading by a tremor that filled the humble shop and rattled her ice cream cup. The girl gazed through the window and witnessed the sky fill with an unstoppable fire; she observed the buildings around her come down in a rumble of dust and sound. The girl smiled a little to herself and kept reading.

—By Divya G., 15, Ohio