A Distorted Reality.

‘Well, nothing lasts forever. The permanence of nothing is guaranteed: we are born, we consume, we die – the only universal truth; the only infallible transience. Sure there are the perks inbetween the three, of course: we’d all just end life prematurely if we know the true sumtotal of our existence. We’d have nothing to aim for, would we? Luckily, we have the immeasurable distractions of sex; of violence; of bad will towards others. The beauty of biologically pre-programmed evils. We have love, my dear friend, and love conquers all. For a few minutes, at least. Goodbye, old friend: you have exuded your usefulness to me.’

The unnecessary verbosity; the pseudo-political, pseudo-philosophical, half-thought out stream of nothingness: it was comforting somehow – there was some truth in the past. The message was more unsettling by a wide margin: he had been used. He had become a pawn, a tool, whichever other DIY/board game allusions can be made to the state of becoming a facilitator of goals above all else.

Flash: the first meeting. Flash: the continued interest. Flash: the illusory ‘closeness’. Flash: the dissolution of his permanent scepticism. Flash: his trust. Flash: cynicism abated. Flash: this end. Years in months, months in weeks, weeks in days, days in hours, hours in minutes, minutes in seconds: time, in all of its transitory glory, dissolved. The larger picture broken down into smaller, more significant wallet-sized memento photographs. There was no construable sequence of a past: just a series of events which formed the ever fading present – a four-year old’s flipbook.

Shoulders sagged in a plainly observable manner, perfectly in line with the increasing distance between the two. Diaphragm relaxed; ribcage lowered: musculature just giving way, as if itself disappointed – an inch for each inch that grew between them. Lacrimal ducts opened, willing for gushes of unnecessary basal tears to satiate their lust – gushes that would not come. Anything for leucine enkephalin; just something to take the edge off of this revelation. His eyes would not yield to this desire.

Then rage. Uncontrollable, inexpressible rage: the rage of a bull. Muscle tensed as the creeping paralysis of ascending anger contracted every muscle in his body. Adrenaline became the main component of his blood: flight or fight his mental prerogative; and a fight was his brain’s preference. Fists clenched, nails bored into his palms: the sticky, sweet crimson’s exit eased by his hot rage. This was symbolic: a reminder for things to come.

‘Oculus pro oculus‘ was muttered through clenched teeth.