The dew on the leaf seemed like tears. It was like the night that would bid the twenty-four hour cycle a permanent goodbye. It was only a matter of time before the Sun would shoot its blazing rays down on every dew drop on the Earth. Clean water felt like a salt-less dream. And we were just waiting for the Sun to pass, unarmed and hopeless, dripping down sweat-tears, letting out that heedless cry of welcoming the Sun. Parched throats let out voices of anguish, muttering hopes of spending those last few moments under the shadow of soon-to-fall trees.
That day, it felt like the clock began to count down from twenty-four. My tomorrow ceased to exist. Everybody's tomorrow was a dead dream. With one last wish in my mind, seeking a desperate tear of joy, I set out on a woebegone journey walking my freckled brown bike; its rusted frames begging for a paint-job, its temperature hotter than the Sun itself.
Tired legs with a premonition of the inevitable threatened to bring the body to a collapse. It was then the eye blinked to a darkened shadow of a dying leaf, hanging from a frail branch, its green turned to an irreversible brown. The leaf found itself in a classic web of life's questionable postulate - Can I survive? With its fall, it would deny itself of imbibing that unimaginable small amount of water. But what is survival against all odds when nature has no room for a breath?
That was when my woebegone journey hit a deadened hope. The words in my mind began to remain a question mark. And She was facing the doom, similar to mine and the world, elsewhere. The question mark over survival was long gone.
The leaf dropped. It let itself loose, losing every hope of green. But it still fluttered, as if to stay alive, to challenge that postulate of survival. Thus, giving me hope to take my wish with it and land in her lap conveying my message of existence.
The Sun beat down. And we were beaten with it.