On the steps of Southern Cross Station, Melbourne [Short fiction]

Sometimes the ordinariness of life can leave the scratch of an impression or the itch of a memory.

The road glistens like burnished lead. Steel tracks, embedded there, carry travellers to the future in green, white and gold trams. Dave stops,  unsure where to go but knowing he has to move. A distant siren quickly becomes a wail of disaster as it slices into his thoughts. A red truck glides around the corner and away from him, warning lights gesticulating and Dave feels that familiar ache in his gut, one he has always simultaneously subdued and try to bring to life. This has to stop.

He sits heavily on the steps, half-way up, dreaming of beer and Schnitz chips but avoiding the real dream his sleeping mind and churning gut won't let him see. His sister said it a year ago.

"David, you have Goliath inside you. When you let him grow up, you will become the master of your life."
He was twenty-four and she was speaking to him from the grave. He still has the recording on a USB. He misses her fiercely.

He leans back and plants his elbows on the hard, grey step behind him. The rain stays away but winter still hides in his heart. He lets his eyes wander over the busy intersection until he notices that the plane trees have come into pale, green leaf. Spring and daylight saving are calling.

His brain registers the pain in his elbows, sharp and insistent, but he finds himself unable to move. Spring ... daylight saving (how do you save daylight?) ... change.

Spring.
Day.
Light.
Saving.

Nothing is inevitable, is it?