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Smoke, Ink and Mirrors

Short story By: zer0

Short prose. What more can I say?

Submitted:Aug 4, 2009    Reads: 69    Comments: 4    Likes: 1   

What was once a visage of sparkling lights sprinkled amoursly across the night sky is now an aperture of blinding darkness, perfectly distilled. All my shinning stars have fallen and all my humble dreams are broken. I am but a shadow of a man; distorted beyond redemption. I feel it calling to me; the darkness; the great decent into madness. I feel its icy breath on the back of my pale neck. Reality and illusion blur into one incomparable mass of roaring static. Lies and truth entwine and merge.
I light another cigarette as I wait impatiently. Not long now. The pitiful flame of a lit match reflects cryptically off the traction polished rails. It seems the only light left in this dying world. I savor the sweet taste of smoke in my mouth as I slowly inhale. This habit was once my promise of impending doom but shall soon be reduced to complete redundancy.
I feel the darkness violate me. I feel it enter me, churning and turning, pulsing through muscle and tendon, devouring me from the inside out. There is a raw abrasive pressure as it malignantly coils its way up the length of my spine like a ravenous serpent and winds itself around my wasted heart. It binds me and frees me. It tears with rightful force a cavity inside my torso, a perfect vacuum, relentlessly draining me of everything that beats until there is nothing left but this lurid shell. Not long now.
I gaze down at the sickly pale skin of my arm and dutifully note the assortment of scars from when I thought of you and dragged that blade across my skin. Your absence haunts me still as my dying heart sputters in your name. Now I am reduced to this single purpose: your entertainment, and you are entertained as I pull back this curtain of paper and ink, are you not? Or have I failed even in that?
As my mind races she appears to me suddenly, a ghostly, enigmatic image. She transverses the horizon, translucently floating across the rugged terrain; one with the rising mist. She is cloaked in spotless white linen, haloed by oil black hair. I know that I've began to hallucinate but as so often besets me I cannot discern the line between psychosis and reality. She is but a little girl, and speaks with the soft tremor of a child's voice, smothered with the pretense of innocence. She taunts me and teases me. Her laughter echoes in a demonic chorus as though there were walls around us for it to reverberate off. Not long now. Soon she will be appeased.
I look up at the moody sky as it begins to weep. Each esoteric drop of ice water plummets to earth and ends with a cold, sharp sensation on my stark cheeks. The rain seems fitting since I no longer remember how to cry. You won't cry for me either.
I hear the scream of metal against metal. A faint glow appears in the distance, ever more imposing as the mechanical monster, whose heart is a mixture of oil and electricity, opens its gaping mouth to consume me. To finally set me free.
On the 13th of the 5th 1986 an unidentified Caucasian male, in his early twenties, committed suicide by stepping out onto the Euphoria Street rail road and into the path of an on coming train. His body was dismembered, torn to pieces and dispersed across the landscape.


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