A Monochrome Prologue

It was Saturday night. John and I were going to ride.

We talked about many things. Maybe everything.

John was so scared. He was afraid of the unknowns. Just like a child afraid of nightmares. He couldn't touch it, nor see it. But somehow, he could feel it. Cold into his bones. Sharp needles through his brain.

He was broken and frozen.

John looked out over the window. Nothing changed; the sky, trees, and several thunderbolts. He closed his eyes deeply, deeper. Ran to the kitchen, said this repeatedly over and over:

"Est omnia illusio! Est omnia illusio!"

I said, John, I would go.He said, I know. And I said, you could go with me. He said, no, I'd rather stay.

He is late, late, I know. But I can feel him in my hereafter. I kiss him while he's dying - and me, myself, is reborn.



Born to kill the pasts: us.