Thereâs a city that hasnât been there forever, although it sometimes thinks that it has. The lights from a million windows and a river of streetlamps block out the stars and have done for so long that the city has forgotten what the stars even look like. So buildings, taller than steel and glass and chrome and concrete have any right to be, they reach up and try and pull away at that night sky, like if they just reach high enough, maybe theyâll see the stars again.
Tonight, though, no one cares about the stars. Tonight, theyâll make their own, in a thousand colours.
In one of those stretching buildings, a party was in full swing. Boozy breath and hopeful smiles and wild dancing were all underlined by the words drifting out of a TV that most people were half paying attention to. â⊠just one minute left of twenty twenty fiveâŠâ
Almost everyone at that party was lost in the alcohol and the excitement of the new year. Almost.
Standing against one wall were two individuals who were hard to notice. Eyes sort of slid over them, though their eyes examined every passerby.
If you did manage to get a good look at them, you would, at first glance, think they were identical twins, in identical outfits. Though, if you looked carefully, you might see that one had a face lined with wrinkles. Their clothes were crumpled, stained and torn in a few places.
âIâm going to be better,â the one with a smooth face said as they both watched a young woman puke into a potted plant. âLess bloodshed. Less fear.â
âI said that too,â said their companion. âI came into this with so many high hopes, so much determination that I was going to go down in the history books as the turning point. The moment when the world gets better. But in the end, it wasnât down to me. I am only defined by the people that live through me.â They rubbed their eyes with the back of their hand, looking tired. âMaybe youâll succeed where I failed.â They glanced over to their companion, whoâd gone a little pale. The older one chuckled. âSo many high hopes. But hereâs the truth, my friend- you and I are just moments. Moments and moments and moments, all stacked together. We can not change the people who live those moments.â
âHey, the countdown's about to start soon,â someone shouted, and guests rushed over- to the TV, to the windows, to each other.
âThen whatâs the point of it all then?â The smooth-faced stranger said. âWhatâs the point of all the New Yearâs resolutions-â
âAnd the ânew year new meâ thing-â
âWhatâs even the point of a new year?â
The wrinkled one smiled. âBecause we can offer change.â
âNot a change in the world, but a change in themselves.â
âA chance to be better.â
âThatâs all we can be.â
âI wasnât either. But youâll do fine.â
âYouâre already all they need- a chance.â
Among a dozen sloppy kisses and raised glasses, and as the night lit up with artificial stars that blinked into existence for a moment and a bang and a thousand colours, the two smiled at each other.
And then there was only one.