They wore black coats.

Swarming the streets, passing by on either side of him, headed for their separate destinations. They strode in distinct paths, creating their own solitary wake, so well-coordinated that they criss-crossed in front of each other but never touched. The tail-end of their robes flapped behind them like giant wings of a bat.

No one said a word. The silence was alien in a city so huge.

He was the only one who stood still, staring at the noiseless commotion around him. Everyone was moving, walking at a steady pace that was as uniform as their attire. Like they had places to be, things to do, spells to cast. They hardly spared him a glance.

It was like being in the center of a beehive, except that the volume was on mute.

Perhaps it was a dream. He tried to pinch himself but found he couldn't lift his arms.

The buildings were grey, the windows flat and dull. There was no brick-red or aqua-blue among the muted tones. A scentless haze seemed to permeate the air.

Black robes flowed wide, spreading their grounded wings. There was no flicker in expressions, although he thought he saw the lips on one face lift at the corners. The person slipped past before he could even confirm it.

Some of these people would be important, he thought. Their names would never go down in history, but their presence would be noted, remembered, perhaps even appreciated by a few.

A gust of wind blew, making him shiver. His arms still would not move.

The swarm was growing smaller, although it still kept up its steady pace. Criss-crossing, zig-zagging, in and out of each other's way. They didn't skip a beat.

He attempted to speak but his jaw felt lax, his tongue heavy. It occurred to him that his sweater was red; a beacon in a sea of black.

There was only a trickle -- a handful -- of people around him now. He couldn't turn around to see where they were going.

He caught sight of a woman clad in the same ebony cloak, feet moving in time to her peers'. Her eyes were fastened on him. He stared back as she approached without a break in stride, her collar ruffling slightly in the wind. Other than that she didn't look the least bit chilled.

She came to a halt right before him, and her eyes actually seemed real. Focused, sharp, not distant.

She lifted a long-fingered hand and brushed his hair away from his face. Then she placed a finger on his nose.

"Breathe," she said.

She left, leaving him behind as if the exchange had never happened. He struggled to turn around, fought violently against whatever force was holding him down. Finally he broke free, but by the time he did the woman was gone. There was nobody around him.

In the silent streets of the towering metropolis, he stood alone.