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I looked into the face of death, and took his mask off. What was it that
I was seeing? Stringent blue lights, creeping black shadows, and an
entity as tall as myself. This wasn’t evil personified, this thing,
this man, this sometimes boy, had a message. He mirrored my actions as I
leant against the dark bluestone walls, in what would’ve been an alley
if it were not for the enclosed, claustrophobic cube. His face was bare
underneath the flowing black hood. We stared at each other, somewhat
intently but more so with recognition. As he raised his right hand up
towards my face, I found mine momentarily doing the same. Just as we
were about to touch, as our hands were to feel the complexity of warm
life and cold death, did this mirage disappear.
I find myself instantly in my bedroom, tired but awake, starting another
day off the back of what I suspect is the beginning of the end.
As I make myself to work, I think constantly about these apparitional
mirages and what it is I’m experiencing. I have no idea, I think I’m
going crazy, and I wonder if I should tell somebody. This type of
behaviour isn’t normal, as far as normalcy is concerned. I pay the
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Today's Emerging Author
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