The night was filled with cold breezes which sent leaves flying in all directions. Street lights flickered on and off as the headlights of cars started to appear and pass. The quiet noises of crickets can be heard as the light shines on a plain white cycle that appeared to be abandoned. The sun begins to appear over the horizon, and a young boy walking down the sidewalk notices the white cycle. It’s been recently sprayed with white since the ragged edges of color seem incomplete. The flowers are put in a water bottle holder as a reminder.

The boy opens the creaky door and quietly talks to the house asking if anyone is there. The house, a 15-year-old carpeted staircase with a lovely chandelier and two bedrooms for the brother and sister, was the boy’s life as he was raised in it. He walks down the hallway, his footsteps get heavier with every step. As he touches the smooth handle to open the door, he notices his computer turned on. It's a glowing white screen with minor scratches and dents from all the years of use. The white screen reminds him of his computer back at home in Chicago. The quiet buzz of the computer settles him down in his chair. He turned the squeaky fan knob to medium and cleared his milky white keyboard. He types white cycle on the sidewalk, with the keyboard sounds calming him, and the page refreshes. That’s when the truth hit him.