When I awake to the roaring, the hustle and the bustle, I can see only shades of gray, with the exception of what seems to be the blood in the corner of my eyes. My eyes throb, have I been staring at the sun? The sidewalk is cold and flat, my face is pressed against it, and the dry snake tongue in my mouth wiggles against the inside of my cheek, feeling the grooves and lines; the pebbles and shards of glass that lay beneath my tender, barely attached head. Why does everything hurt so bad? Have I been left for dead? And why do I not remember?
I manage to sit up, although my head feels fragile, made of egg shells; It feels filled with water, or blood, but blood is something I'm not sure I have anymore. In a moment of panic I feel for my pulse, tho realizing that there is none, I stop worrying. Good thing I'm still dead, I think.
The gray fades to blue, and to green and yellow and all the other colours. Finally. But they seem less vivid than even the gray! They seem lacklustre, nonchalant, somehow passé, if these are words that can accurately describe colours and their "feelings."
All the buildings in this city are smeared with ash. They are dirty, filthy, ugly. The buildings have claw marks, tear lines of soot running down them, as if the buildings wore mascara only to be washed away by the miasmic, putrid rain that would flood the streets with brown maybe once or twice a week. And the smells, the random smells of decay and death, raw sewage; the foul smell of some maw, neglected and uncleaned for far too long, the smells are wretched. This city has halitosis.
But what about the people? The people that sit and drink coffee in cafes, and beer in bars, and what about those people who shuffle to work every day? Their eyes closed to the world around them, hoping for pensions, vacations, medications, weddings and prime-time TV. What about those people who are lonely and broken? Waiting for love, yet perhaps a love that will never find them, a love just as blind as they are themselves. Truly remarkable in the worst way. Do you know these people? Are you one of them? Or are you one of the chosen few?
Cars scream by, pouring smoke into the already occluded sky. A sky once filled with birds and bugs, sunshine, and stars. But where are the clouds? It's been so long since I've seen the clouds. Where are the stars? They seemingly melted into the afterglow of a city too busy to sleep and too tired to wake. A city filled with people and trains and planes and weapons: Words and swords. Some of the people in this city have one or the other, some none, and some have both.
A mangy dog passes by, whimpering, tail between its legs, with a man walking closely behind, dressed in black, pallid face like a pallbearer, he seemingly waits for something. They turn the corner and I hear a yelp. I do not stir.
What has become of my city? My home? Where has it all gone? This is not my time, I do not belong here. I do not belong here because my blood is red, not black. I am not covered in ashes and soot like everybody else. I am clean, I am clear, not blurred. Well defined lines, a vertex and dimensions, colour draws me together with strings so tight they could be tuned. But where am I? That is the question.
These people, they scare me, with their sunken eyes, their hollowed mouths that gape silently to be fed something other than cinders. The skin on their cold hands and feet wraps their bones like dirty rags, rags that have gone unwashed for far too long. Are these people even real? They never speak, they never acknowledge each other, and they never even look at each other. They have merely stepped around me for the whole time I have been here, not once offering or asking for help. I have seen no children, and nothing but starving and pathetic animals. Animals in bondage just like the humans. But why?
There is no difference in this world and the world I left, except that I am here and the grass is always greener, or grayer, on the other side. The other side of what, exactly? The other side of the door, the one I came thru before realizing it really took me nowhere.
So I fall back asleep knowing I'm safe. I'm invisible. I'm invincible because I am not made of that stuff. I am not made of the same soot and ashes, the same used and burned up fuel everyone else is. Inside of me is life!
In my dreams I see a vision of a girl playing with a dog on a beach. The dog is quite dumb, really, and is chasing a yellow ball. A young girl in a plain, tan dress, no shoulder straps. She must be near twenty although I am not sure, as everyone in that city looks so aged. In this city people are born with gray hair, and crows feet, mostly wrinkled; dried like a prune. They say that it's because we've lost our souls. They also say that it's because there is no god. They are going extinct.
The girl never goes near the water, she seems afraid of it. The water is the darkest thing I have ever seen, in my dreams, it is as dark as the sky is now, even during the day. Where has all the colour gone?
The ball she has been tossing to the dog is missing, soon, and the dog is stupid enough to panic. She doesn't.
Then she wakes up, or I wake up, but neither of us are sure which one it is. And it is still dark where we are, although she is not here with me and she never has been or probably ever will be. Do you know that feeling? And somewhere it's pouring rain, but not here, thankfully. The rain is what ruined the earth, if you ask them. It all started with the oceans and the lakes and the rivers and creeks. The most basic thing for life on earth has been fundamentally corrupted by the life it supplied; the creatures were too selfish to even consider the implications of all-out nuclear war, pollution and even, for gods sake, religion! So what the fuck man, because a few billion people can't decide what hell they're going to when they die, they decide to ruin everything for everybody? Now everyone is sick, somehow, but I'm not sure why, and I'm beginning to think that it is actually moi! ME who is ill.
It is time to sleep, because there is no time left to do anything else. The sky is darker now and it is probably going to be light soon. My eyes throb with blood when I try to stand up and so I need to either sit and wait or have my head explode. But I will wait forever. There has to be a place and time for everything, right? I mean, that girl in my dreams, she is still on that beach somewhere, and I am that dumb dog looking for my ball. So why is it that I need that ball? I think I need her. I think I need everything right now; but first I need to know who I am, where I am and obviously why.
I'll find out because in every life we do, and nothing ever changes.
Any thoughts or ideas? Comments available.
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