4-18-2006. A brief history of an eclipse.

I'm waiting for the end of the world. I'm also waiting for an elevator. One that is taking an extremely long time to arrive. The doors in front of me gleam a dull reflection of somebody uncannily similar to myself. I try to make out the expression that is being made at me, but everything is too distorted.

I'm due on the 20th floor in three hours, I'm not sure if I'll make it in time anymore. There have been dings as the elevator stops at floors above me, but it hasn't stopped on my floor yet. The button has been pushed, and the red light is on. My eyes begin to wander and I know my mind will not be far behind. I see the dull white streak on the silver doors extend to the top, and the dirty brown walls above that. I follow the mixture of colors in the wall around, trying to discern images out of the muddy shapes.

This color reminds me. Reminds me of when I was little, on my island. The monkey bars, and making sure nobody was happy. If I can't be happy on my island, no one will. I'll burn the palm trees I thought. I'll starve the monkeys, drive them to madness. I'll replace the sand with rocks. I rule with an iron fist on my island. Forced to play the french horn in a stiff collared shirt, sweating heavily under my armpits, wishing the sun would go down. I wish the sun would have gone down, and not returned...

Older