I’m mortal

Whim and blind rhetoric wound the warriors of death. From the dark folds of impenetrable storms they watched life bloom and ebb away in their own private picture show. But eternity is a bleak landscape and even malevolent gods grow tired of games. 

He fixed his eyes on the clock and watched the old day die. It was nothing now, just the manifest of a self-imposed duty and in the darkness he cursed the legacy of a habit never broken. How ironic that time had turned out to be so relentless in its efficiency? No more glorious permanence to laze around in. Entropy had arrived to spoil the party and in the waning hours it had turned out that his was the only song left on the Karaoke list.

Everything changed now. Everything. He stared out of the window and waited for the movement of the earth to show along the skyline before turning to face the wall. But even with that first light he didn’t sleep. He just wanted a change of perspective while he waited for the rest of the world to wake up.

By 7am a low mist had taken hold. He stepped through his front door like he was passing through a curtain. The air clung to his face and settled dark fingers along the rim of his shirt. He took a deep breath, holding the zoo of grey clouds inside his lungs for as long as he could. Sometimes the simple things were the worst.

His car was tucked against the car port. A crouched talisman that represented all the noble deeds he had done. Except that he didn’t live in a time of heroes anymore. Here in the mortal world the monsters had won and the knights of the new order wore a far more tarnished mask than the ones he remembered.

The roads were busy. By the time he’d reached the first roundabout they had slowed to crawl. In the distance some reclusive piper played. He tapped the dashboard and watched while the white dragon danced with the red. And all the time his wiper blades tracked a hypnotic path back and forth, back and forth.

Rain on glass. It was pretty mundane stuff but even after all this time, it was still utterly beautiful. He tilted his head to watch the water distorting the world into cubist shapes of pigment, and he watched as it filled up with blue. A moment in time where paths met and things had changed. He watched as life beat its gossamer wings against steel and tarmac.

‘How hopelessly fragile they are,’ he spoke the words softly as an ambulance squealed and wailed out a path behind him. And in his mirror he saw the traffic part like a biblical miracle.

It was Wednesday, and yet for the life of him all he could do was watch.