Philip

Philip was from the Himalayas. He had no idea why he now lived in such a polluted, crowded and rude city, full of Neanderthals basking in their own glory. He longed for the clean mountain air and dirt tracks leading to cool, mysterious darkness of the forest. Everyday, he would rise at dawn, wash his face with river water and go for a wander amongst the trees. He would listen to the birds exchange greetings and the dry foliage crunch underneath his boots. And he would pass by her tree, place the flat on his palm on the rough bark and inhale its scent. He could still see her long fine hair, weightless against the wind as she ran away from him. The faster he pushed his legs forward, the smaller the figure became, until it faded into the green and brown mosaic. Taking a final breath of air, he would admit his defeat and trudge back to camp, leaving her memory scattered within the decaying vegetation.