The chilly air chattered my teeth, forcing the movement that created pain and warmth. I often thought about the cold breath in the wind, the whispers of cracking trees and the cackling crows that haunted my memories of winter.
There was something special about that first snow fall and even despite the fact that we often cursed the cold, something magical would sparkle in the eyes of the young; a certain zest for life. As I walked through the grey pavement streets, and the stone cold buildings - cracks dwindling up the foundations taunting destruction to fall - I thought about the quiet loneliness that embodied the calming words of knowledge.
I missed life; life was a game of shadowy charades which existed only in the back alleyways, and in the dark crevices of the night. It was only then that the rainbow of truth could be seen; you had to face the fear to see the truth of what was really beautiful.
The faltering lights lit dimly, the black soot of night, which stretched endlessly across the minute town, only penetrated the darkness for a short while before it became impregnable once again.
With every blink - life ended.
No cars rumbled, and no transit stopped on routine, it was desolate. It was a happy place, one where it was not inhabited by the musty smell of humans and even though everywhere there were traces of this ailing race - material objects - it became the backdrop as the natural became the foreground.
The aimless path wandered by a tortured soul is that of one of limerick. The words are sung, the melody played, and no one hears it but for the self. The cry is sharp, the pain is acute, and the gasp for air, unavailable. The wrenching heartbeat was only a wavering thump of remembrance as the soul battered against the bodily frame in an attempt to escape the illness of self-mutilation. Anger would erupt, thensadness, and then again the process would continue - intense and fading like the artificial streetlamps that were bright at night, and dimmed in the morning light; a continuous circle of fresh pain followed by a putrid scab of guilt.
The brain waves were altered, the functioning system was failing. The thoughts were grim, the happiness all but forgotten. Andas the snowflakes fluttered, dancing all around in a vivacious expression of cheer, it reminded me of the burning sensation of fresh scars daunting the perpetrator.
I shuddered, asaflake landed on my cheek. I felt it melt at the touch of my warmskin. It was so cold, and so warm – a contrast of unproportionate opposites. We wonder why we have given life opposites, why there is a cause andaneffect, why there is a question and an answer. For we, ask far too many questions, looking for far too many answers - and when the answers are received they are nevergood enough. We must know more, we must have more. We must be obsessed; completely construed by the influenceof our blossoming eraof scientific alterations and answers to that of theories.
Theory; that’s what life is, a theory, an experiment - perhaps we will somedaylearn as to why we should not play the role of God for when we do play a role that we do not understand, we tend to fuck it up. How can we play a role that is solely based on theories and on stories? Is there a God, have we seen one, do we know one? No. We go on blind faith alone, like lemmings answering to the cult of mind; controlling thoughts.
I kicked a pebble, and into the sewage grate it fell, banging noiselessly until it came to a stop with a soft silence.
The highway was nearing, the on ramp approaching. The night was enveloping and the headlights bright and inviting. My footfalls could be heard. This is what happens when life is cruel to the human being which either has very little understanding, or too much understanding to bear.
“Transport,” I whispered.
The dragging of feet, uphill, echoed.
The sound: prominent, fading, gone.