He opens his eyes for the first time in days. The same white walls. No
matter where he moves, always he is greeted by the same smoke stained
white walled tomb. Overwhelming dullness. The mirror, shy and fearful,
reflects more and more of the wall and less and less of anything that
could be identified as living. He brushes his teeth, more of a ritual
than anything. His jaws have become a mortar and pestle making fairy
dust for aborted children and the kids who never get adopted and know
it's never too late to abort themselves. He thinks of himself as less
of a biological organism and as more of an outdated broken down
machine. Programmed with paradoxes that debilitate and deconstruct. He
puts on his clothes, relics now ruins, that hint at long forgotten
adventures and quest, of sleepless nights and true love. He walks
outside to smoke his first cigarette of the day, the corporeal reminder
that this will come to an end one day, one day. A hope that sleep will
one day actually bring him rest. A sleepy friend comes to join in the
wakening rite of cancerous understanding. The only being still alive
that can, or is at least willing, to comprehend the bitter unreality of
absolute truth. The absent truth that leaves an intoxicating sobriety,
the smell of a scented candle, a fragrant orange deathy
smell. He tries to tell his friend everything, knowing only he can
decipher the speaking in tongues. Silence is the only thing separating
their curse and words are what they use to say the few things
the silence and their understanding can't. He moved away, but maybe not
far enough. If miles, no matter how many, could be far enough. He
brought his friend to help him, but he now wonders if maybe it wasn't
more to help himself. The fear of losing the only being perceivable to
everyone else, and not just himself. That shares the same
psycho-spiritual construct of the abyss. The understanding that the end
is the only absolute, but that their friendship would be enough of a
comfort until then.

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...