Halcyon Days
1 / 1The light of the day slowly fades. The kitchen slowly darkens. Shadows become black splotches. The colors are diluted in the orange glow of the setting sun. I see myself in the sink. My face is trembling, losing it's lines. The soapy water crackles silently. Bubbles envelop my face. I feel my hands losing form. They become ethereal. Lost in time, as a memory.
I am dilluted. I am apatethic to the physical. That which can be touched, can be heard, can be seen. I have no feeling with sense. In my mind, I see myself dancing through a bright kitchen. My hair is curly and red and I have red plastic gloves in my hand. My vision is a blur of yellow and white. I move my hands through the air rapidly, following a soundless rhythm. I feel peaceful. At the same time, I feel nothing but this peace.
I am homeless. My home is inexistent. It doesn't even exist in thought. It's only an outsider concept. There's no end goal to reach, neither a previous point to return. There's only the now and an endless future. Even in death, a future will come. I will not witness it. But I can walk in the now and with that, I can guess the future. Even if I end up being wrong, I can still give peace to myself. As long as I keep believing my own lies.
I am a hunter. The barrel of a shotgun presses against my thigh. It's my own shotgun. For some reason, I've never felt the need to adjust the belt. It's an old model, not exactly safe. It could discharge and dilacerate my legs. But, for some reason, I don't feel as if that is even a possibility. In this world, that kind of accident is but a product of sightless pessimism. The physical necessity for that kind of accident doesn't exist in this plane.