"What if the sun didn't shine on the weekend?" A short story by George Lomas
“The weather forecast for this weekend..... well it’s going to be the same as it always is on the weekend... damp, dark and miserable”. The reporter wasn’t far wrong; it was like experiencing a weekly groundhog day. It was always the same. In all my life, I have never seen so much as a ray of sunshine on a Saturday or Sunday. It’s simply nowhere to be seen. Bill Withers famously tried to romanticise this phenomenon in one of his songs through the lyric “Ain't no sunshine when she’s gone”. The weekend is a rest period, a time for recuperation, for the sun to re-energize and refuel behind the white sheets in the sky. As well as this the work the sun has to do during the average working week is extremely elaborate and highly demanding, it transmits heat and light and at the same time uses its gravitational pull to keep the Earth in orbit. We as humans consistently maintain a somewhat parasitic relationship towards it, feeding off its energy; the way it projects night and day whilst showcasing the crisp orange glow that lies in-between. It’s fair to say it deserves a well-earned break. I took a steady stroll through the park around midday to cleanse myself from the depressive reality of being home alone. The park was practically empty, apart from a tall elderly looking homeless man who sat on the bench opposite me muttering under his breath. “The darkness, why is it always soo dark”. I truly empathise with the homeless at these times, the dreary conditions they face during the weekend must fill them with the deepest, darkest form of dread. Apart from the oppressive disapproval of housing regulators, smug members of the public and employers they also have the weather to contend with. Although physically the park was still the same, it was quite visibly lacking its fundamental purpose of provoking life in motion; the interactions that had previously infused the park with its energy seemed just as foreign as the presence of light itself. Life enters a new state of existence at the weekend, our reality automatically alters leaving people petrified
by the consequences of such a sudden change. I have come to the conclusion that the sun is the unconscious epicentre of psychological fulfilment and that without it, we seem to resent everything that's still there in the darkness. Within a matter of minutes, the streets became paved with streams of gushing water. I immediately joined my fellow frantic weekend travellers rushing into the safety of warm, well-lit buildings. I had escaped the darkness. The flat door swung open, reassuring me with the sight of switches, lamps and light bulbs. I charged through, my jacket clinging on to my back, cold, wet and lacking the thermal protection promised by its thick padded lining. Once washed and feeling warmer, I looked out of my living room window and noticed the rain easing gently. It will start again in a minute I thought to myself. This streetlit version of normality will continue until it's time for it to make way for a brighter world. A world that's meant for the weekdays.