I laid on the cold wooden floor, older, colder and not the slightest wiser, facing my fears, foes and phantoms with the flames of my cigarette. As the smoke rose like doomsday warnings to unite with the sanguine clouds piercing the sky at the fall of a freezing winter day, I was left helpless, hapless and wandering through the numerous denizens of the mind.
Morose, I gathered all that’s left of my strength to stand erect from the ground only to be vexed by my own reflection
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the saddest of them all?
Said I in my usual theatrical and dramatic tone.
To my surprise and awe, the familiar face responded to the rhetorical question I sent flying towards him, he murmured:
You, master of masks, you are the saddest of them all.
Darkness is your dominion,
and your reign
for before you were you,
I was you
as many were before me,
you are not what their senses perceive you,
you are the saddest of them all.
As the swift, murderous response perplexed me and buried its words in my chest, the glass shattered into thousands upon thousands of particles, all screaming my name.
I woke up at the demise of the magnificent mental manifestation with my killer resting still between my fingers, fuming while it deals one of many blows destined to fortunately end an existence I one thought was meaningful.
Silence overcame me after the vision had ended, I’ve found no relief, no sleep and no rest still so I open Pandora’s box once more and alight another cigarette was set.