The crowd was slow. Dead walk. And a bit strange. All dressed in black which was somehow assented by the crying greys above them. And the scene was really strange.
It looked like a funeral. Like a casket being carried away from the church to the hearse and everybody else being a part of it. How else would you describe the black? Black hair, black suits. Black eyes, black boots. And more than that the look on their faces. Pale. Upset. They looked dead.
Depressed and dead. Dressed in black. Expressionless. They all were moving in a monotone. Like an army marching. Though not as rhythmic. Deadpanned look. They seemed upset. They looked similar. They looked familiar. They looked like a horde.
The horde was not too big to be called a crowd. It was too small to be called a group. It was indescribable. The picture they painted in the mind is and will always be inerasble. On a rainy day the horde walking with their faces facing the Earth, embossed by the amber grey buildings surrounding them.
And then they faded. They passed us by. They passed by us. And then we never saw the fading blacks again.
Though the incidence, will be pass us by.
Or passed by us.
(P.s. This is work of fiction. Any sentiment hurt or insensitivity on my side is an unintentional, unseen human error on my behalf. Thankew for reading.)