A Perfect Day

It is a perfect summer day. The sun is shining, and a few lazy clouds drift by in the bluest sky I could imagine. I can hear the birds chirping and tweeting. A gentle breeze caresses my face, and I walk happily down the street.

I’m back home.

Everything is perfect, just as it should be. I can hear the music in my head, the merry beat, drum, drum, drum, as if I was living in an 80s music video. I don’t walk, I swagger to the rhythm. I stop and spin, and greet three bystanders with a grin. They wave back at me, jump up and tiptoe away to catch a bus that appears right then.

I keep my stroll, leaping over one, two, three dogs. Three nice girls are walking them, and the leashes become entangled. I kneel down, and the mess is no more. I wave them goodbye and they wave me thanks.

The traffic lights become red exactly when I reach the next corner: I walk through, my arms up in the air like a fashion designer after his last success, one row of yellow and blue taxis at each side. Two beautiful women in high heels come walking from the other side to my right, and two guys in well-tailored suits on my left. I sweep by them and do my little dance, and when I leave the taxi drivers are cheering to two couples kissing.

And I get to her house. The door opens as I arrive, and she steps out. Her black hair shines, her smile is brighter than the sun. I extend my arm, she takes it, and I spin her. We dance and dance as the music gets louder, the rhythm faster, and finally we leave together.

Ah, if the day was great before, now it’s superb, because new flowers just grow at her feet when we cut across the park, and she leaves a carpet of many colours behind her. I point at it and make it rain on the little petals. The three dogs come running by, tongues lolling, and behind them their leashes, and behind them the three girls. The two couples from the taxis appear from a copse of trees and do several vals steps before leaving.

We exit the park and walk up to our favourite spot, the street with the “Do Not Enter” sign at the end, because we would always disobey and enter. Our dance and the music makes up come together and apart, together and apart. The breeze makes the palm trees sway to our rhythm, dancers to our dance. Our fingertips touch.

All is perfect.

“NO!”

A bang, a fist on a table.

“What’s this? Who’s done this?”

They all gazed at each other, surprise in their faces.

“Don’t you see? The streetlights! They’re on! This is not perfect, dammit!”

“Boss, we…”

“You nothing! No more excuses, Curtis! I’m tired of all this. We sell absolutely the best immersive virtual reality experience, that’s what we charge millions for. That,” she pointed at the code showing the streetlights on, “is the dumbest mistake you’ve ever made. I won’t tolerate it.”

“We were just checking that they worked, and forgot them on, Mz Alvarado. We…”

“You and your team of overpaid developers are going to fix that, and any other mistake you’ve made. You have twelve hours. And if everything is not perfect by then, I’ll fire you all. Now get to work!”

~~~~

This is my entry for the Weekly Writing Exercise: June 15–21, 2015 at the Google+ Writer’s Discussion Group.

This week I wrote down several different ideas… In the end this was my favourite one, though I have the feeling I haven’t managed to pull it off.

In any case, I like the irony of the customer demanding something that could only be described as a surreal video clip and “the mistake” being that the lights are left on during the day…