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Epochalypse
31 August 2006 21:36Six weeks. That doesn’t feel like a long time looking back on it. It sure feels like a lot when it’s spooled out in front you, though. Look at it. Arching away over the horizon. That’s halfway through the month after this one. Six fucking weeks.
I brought it on myself.
I told it my name.
Now, I’m not really a philanthropist at heart. I’m not very generous or kind. One might even say that I’m a bit of a bastard when it comes right down to it. I’ve occasionally crossed the street to avoid beggars. I’ve promised and not delivered to quite a few bosses and friends. Maybe that just makes me human but I think it makes me a bit of a heel.
When the bright red 1978 Mercedes pulled up beside me on that dark road in the middle of the night and the driver showed me his silver teeth, I almost thought it was a dream. That was two days ago.
It’s raining now. The raindrops are like ink. This whole city is filled with dead people thanks to me. I’m sitting on the wide marble steps of the art gallery and the rain is hissing when it hits me. Steam wreathes my deformed gigantic body. My eyes are glowing red and my hands are glowing white. The rest of me is charcoal black. I’m exhausted. And this is just Day One.
He made me a deal. His eyes glinted underneath the brim of his hat in the darkness of that car. His nails were long. At first I thought his teeth were just capped with silver but after a few words I noticed that his tongue was silver as well. Articulated and shiny like a metal centipede. It clinked against his teeth on the sibilants. Every single thing he said sounded reasonable.
A smell of dead birds wafted out from the back seat.
I felt chosen. I felt like I’d won something.
I’m thinking now that maybe I was the prize. A prize that someone else won.
I stand and stretch my back. There is thunder. I walk down the steps with death in each step. I leave footprints inches deep in the marble. This city is dead. One down and hundreds of thousands to go.
Six fucking weeks.
tags
I brought it on myself.
I told it my name.
Now, I’m not really a philanthropist at heart. I’m not very generous or kind. One might even say that I’m a bit of a bastard when it comes right down to it. I’ve occasionally crossed the street to avoid beggars. I’ve promised and not delivered to quite a few bosses and friends. Maybe that just makes me human but I think it makes me a bit of a heel.
When the bright red 1978 Mercedes pulled up beside me on that dark road in the middle of the night and the driver showed me his silver teeth, I almost thought it was a dream. That was two days ago.
It’s raining now. The raindrops are like ink. This whole city is filled with dead people thanks to me. I’m sitting on the wide marble steps of the art gallery and the rain is hissing when it hits me. Steam wreathes my deformed gigantic body. My eyes are glowing red and my hands are glowing white. The rest of me is charcoal black. I’m exhausted. And this is just Day One.
He made me a deal. His eyes glinted underneath the brim of his hat in the darkness of that car. His nails were long. At first I thought his teeth were just capped with silver but after a few words I noticed that his tongue was silver as well. Articulated and shiny like a metal centipede. It clinked against his teeth on the sibilants. Every single thing he said sounded reasonable.
A smell of dead birds wafted out from the back seat.
I felt chosen. I felt like I’d won something.
I’m thinking now that maybe I was the prize. A prize that someone else won.
I stand and stretch my back. There is thunder. I walk down the steps with death in each step. I leave footprints inches deep in the marble. This city is dead. One down and hundreds of thousands to go.
Six fucking weeks.
tags