The Road That Danced With Time

-- Let's just call this a first draft but this is the short story I came up with. Not sure if this is how I meant for it to end but I'm happy with it, I hope you guys like it. Thanks for reading! --

There's always a clear distinction between how roads are experienced; whether architecturally, visually and by vehicle or on foot, during different times of day and so on. I think I first noticed this when I paid attention, when I had no headphones on to keep me in my safe little bubble. If you're someone who's always on the road, you might notice that the highway is always alive, even at night. Of course, there's the usual 16:00 traffic, the early morning traffic and sometimes the evening traffic. Secondary roads on the other hand, or rather tight roads that exist between buildings, in certain spaces like Mar Mikhael or Gemayze, these spaces are eternal. Time flows slowly and quickly at the same time, you look around and you notice the friend group laughing while sitting on the stairs of the entrance to the coffee shop, that one woman subtly flirting with another woman while leaning against the concrete structure of a retail store. That one cute guy walking his dog after his work shift ended. These roads which always have a story to tell. A page out of the book of each persons life. Simple, day to day routine things that make a road more than it is, vibrant. You notice these things in the bubble of your own loud world. It takes guts to step out when you're comfortable for so long. Although, this isn't the story I want to tell.

I want to tell the story about the weird road that city folk seem not to know some of the time. The road that is in its own sense a highway but only if it's your first time and you think you're not supposed to cross it, but it's actually easy to cross with time?

Or you know, you could attempt to cross it for your first time all the way to the afterlife. It's the one that leads to the conservative villages up in the mountains. That's the one, yeah.

I first noticed this on my way to work, I don't drive so I go to the city with my aunt and really it just depends on what time we leave. That time I noticed, it was 07:00 in the morning. It felt like time travel in a way.

At 07:00, almost no one is awake. I noticed a few people getting up, getting ready to open their little shops and start their day before the birds woke up. The roads are empty except for the people like us heading to work early before getting caught in the traffic. You notice the elderly sitting on their balconies or the side of the road, enjoying their morning ahwe (Lebanese coffee) without a care in the world.

At 07:15, I'm just passing Douar, there are a few more cars intersecting with us on the main road now. More people are awake and getting ready for work. The birds have woken up as well as some stray dogs and cats basking in the warmth of the sun. Lucky for them they could enjoy this weather because they're in the mountains. Any closer to the city and they would have been baked. It's not lively yet but it's getting there.

Closer to 07:30, everyone is now awake. I'd put my location somewhere before Mazraat Yashouu where I work. The tourists are up to enjoy all that the villages have to offer, between architectural heritage and the local cuisine, traditional clothing and souvenirs to bring to their loved ones back home. The locals enjoying their breakfast and coffee, kids running around and young adults walking or taking the bus to work. This all happens right before the main highways traffic. Thirty minutes a day where people enjoy their mornings before the rest of the day becomes a tragedy, a reminder that most of our days are a living nightmare, or just a regular shitty day. At least we adapt and get accustomed to this, I think that's enough. I think we decided for ourselves that it's enough, all we needed to get by and maybe we can't have it even the smallest bit better.

I think I realized there's another road I forgot to mention. The road frozen in time. The road to the south. To say it were a typical highway would be an understatement. With our families and next-country neighbours in the south constantly being harassed and bombed, treated like a subspecies that can be harmed without any consequences. Their lives on the road, escaping or being trapped, with what seems like no end to this way of surviving. I myself am actually from the south, a small humble village on the borders with the occupied lands of Palestine. I have no connection with it aside from being there. No family to worry about, no place to call home, yet still it aches to know that the beauty that once stood there has turned to rubble. The people I met one short afternoon may have been, for lack of a better phrase, sent back to the earth. And the world watches, a real life Hunger Games where the Capitol wins.

I don't think I expected to tell this part of the story. The story was meant to be short and sweet, about a road that allows us to travel through time. I guess what I'm saying is that like all things in this life, everything turns bleak.

--Hades