Alpha

The morning, the mourning came. Light shines upon that which had killed him. The kris, the feather, the easel.

The night before was that of inexplicable ecstasy, gratuitous anguish. The illusion he had created, splattered over the weeping marble, spoke, insulted, caressed, devoured, impaled. He was given the gift of flight, but for a brief moment. A spec on the rotational iron and steel, the towering giant, the minuscule coin.

The seamless transition had been missed. It had consumed him. Dissolved, dispersed, diffused. Wondering, wandering. Contemplation, he thought of where he could have ended it. It had been overlooked. He was falling, plummeting.

Recreation was impossible.

Omega.

I had killed him.

Moments pass, he drove carrying the guilt of what he had done, the pleasure of what he had done. Though there was something deeper, stabbing him, deeper, there was, the thought of her, the car turning right in front of him, the infuriated vehicles careening towards him on the opposite side of the road, her smile was stabbing him right in the middle of his forehead, the grayed images on his dashboard rattled with the volleying thoughts.

Absolution, he confessed, though he knew that time and only time could heal him, could save him from this fate, this obsession.

"What now?"

Bitter Ordeal.

He had already grown accustomed to the sensation of eternal falling. The descent into the bottomless hollowness was all too familiar.

A touch of insanity. He braced himself for the ride ahead. Darkness creeping, his vision was slowly fading. He sensed the imminence of his demise.

He had expected this to happen far earlier in the past. The expectation of his demise had readied him for its inevitable eventuality. He recalled all the events leading up to this point. The piercing cold, the caring warmth, the blissful torment of interaction. He closes his eyes, his mind.

Dated Jul 1, '09 7:52 PM