The whole atmosphere seemed to spark into flame as I
depressed the wheel on my lighter. The faint yellow-orange glow was all the
illumination I had, and all the illumination I needed. All of life’s mysteries
solved in the sucking of a cigarette. Stars glittered above me like the burning
tar in that grey and black flecked end, slowly drawn inwards, inhaled, exhaled,
extinguished.
The ground beneath my feet was cold, causing an itchiness on my soles. The unevenness becoming more, then less noticeable as the frost numbed my feet. Becoming more sensitive the closer they came to the inevitable numbness of cold. I could not see what was beneath my feet, save for that small moment of light, and all that was revealed to me then was that this was the place I always stood and a place I would never leave.
I’m not sure if there’s significance in any of it. I look for it, sometimes. Scanning horizons I cannot see, trying to make out figures passing in the darkness. I thought I saw a cat once, but I can’t be sure. I don’t think I even know what a cat is anymore. Always peering sightlessly through the black for a chance at a glimpse at what I used to know. I had a family once, but they’re gone now, lost in that same black haze that enveloped the world when I was put here, on this spot. I often imagine how I would feel if I were to see my wife running, her face lit up with a bright halo above her head, her arms outstretched in a manner with which to embrace me. Then I remember I used to have a wife, and she doesn’t exist now. Then I realise how I am fooling myself. I remember no one loves me. Memories are horrible things, teasing reminders of a better past, or harsh reminders of a shitty present when lost in fantasy. If the function of them is to learn from them, I think it must be rather lost on most people. It’s not fate that causes the repeat of history, it’s stupidity. I know, I have watched it unfold from this very spot.
I often wonder what they’d have done if they’d been there. When I was taken, there was no one to hold me back. There was no one there to fight my battle for me – a trait many people foolishly believe to be admirable. A lack of unity causes battle, unity avoids it. Fighting alone is inevitable defeat, fighting at all is foolish. Together, resistance alone can crush the hubris of conquest. With the help of others, with their resistance, I would not be stood here. Divide et impera taken to its logical extreme by turning us all into competing individuals against one another. So here I stand alone, wishing for others to stand with me.
I’ve never seen a sunrise. Never felt the kiss of the pale moonlight upon me. I yearn for another day to come for me. To end this incessant Void I see before me. Am I sleeping? I don’t know. Sometimes I think I must be. I am only acknowledged by myself, as if lost in that egocentric maelstrom of subconsciousness. Is it that I am alone? Or are others out there awaiting my awakening? Am I waiting on others, or they me? I don’t know. If that were they case, surely they would wake me? If I am dreaming, and people wished me awake, they would wake me. None wake me. Therefore I am either all alone, stood here stoically; or I am so despised by the world they don’t want me to awaken and blight their days with my consciousness.
I can’t feel my feet now. I can’t feel anything, save for that prevailing wind that erodes my skin, until I inevitably crumble into the dust from whence I came.
The ground beneath my feet was cold, causing an itchiness on my soles. The unevenness becoming more, then less noticeable as the frost numbed my feet. Becoming more sensitive the closer they came to the inevitable numbness of cold. I could not see what was beneath my feet, save for that small moment of light, and all that was revealed to me then was that this was the place I always stood and a place I would never leave.
I’m not sure if there’s significance in any of it. I look for it, sometimes. Scanning horizons I cannot see, trying to make out figures passing in the darkness. I thought I saw a cat once, but I can’t be sure. I don’t think I even know what a cat is anymore. Always peering sightlessly through the black for a chance at a glimpse at what I used to know. I had a family once, but they’re gone now, lost in that same black haze that enveloped the world when I was put here, on this spot. I often imagine how I would feel if I were to see my wife running, her face lit up with a bright halo above her head, her arms outstretched in a manner with which to embrace me. Then I remember I used to have a wife, and she doesn’t exist now. Then I realise how I am fooling myself. I remember no one loves me. Memories are horrible things, teasing reminders of a better past, or harsh reminders of a shitty present when lost in fantasy. If the function of them is to learn from them, I think it must be rather lost on most people. It’s not fate that causes the repeat of history, it’s stupidity. I know, I have watched it unfold from this very spot.
I often wonder what they’d have done if they’d been there. When I was taken, there was no one to hold me back. There was no one there to fight my battle for me – a trait many people foolishly believe to be admirable. A lack of unity causes battle, unity avoids it. Fighting alone is inevitable defeat, fighting at all is foolish. Together, resistance alone can crush the hubris of conquest. With the help of others, with their resistance, I would not be stood here. Divide et impera taken to its logical extreme by turning us all into competing individuals against one another. So here I stand alone, wishing for others to stand with me.
I’ve never seen a sunrise. Never felt the kiss of the pale moonlight upon me. I yearn for another day to come for me. To end this incessant Void I see before me. Am I sleeping? I don’t know. Sometimes I think I must be. I am only acknowledged by myself, as if lost in that egocentric maelstrom of subconsciousness. Is it that I am alone? Or are others out there awaiting my awakening? Am I waiting on others, or they me? I don’t know. If that were they case, surely they would wake me? If I am dreaming, and people wished me awake, they would wake me. None wake me. Therefore I am either all alone, stood here stoically; or I am so despised by the world they don’t want me to awaken and blight their days with my consciousness.
I can’t feel my feet now. I can’t feel anything, save for that prevailing wind that erodes my skin, until I inevitably crumble into the dust from whence I came.
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