Now you see it.
Sometimes the things you strive to forget come back to haunt you, no matter how deep you bury them. A young stranger in the crowd waited for the B-train at the North Creekwell station on a wretched, brisk evening, standing like a freak of nature, slobbering and hoofing and huffing uncontrollably, resembling an addict at a shabby rehab facility crying even whaling for his fix of dirty, dirty junk, but not getting any; no, no. Nobody looked, nobody talked, nobody commented, nobody tried to help, not ever. And the cold rain started pouring down upon the stranger’s long face, sparking some intelligence in his droopy eyes, and he wondered why exactly was he waiting for a train, and where was he going.
“It’s unnatural you see-e-e-e-e-e!” One skeletal guy said then staggered back to his hiding place within the crowd that was beginning to watch the young stranger losing his mind in the rain. A sniffling fool, the skeletal man was, he lost his left eye in a bar fight some odd years ago when people still fought each other with fists, and knives and bottles, but now it’s all guns, guns, guns, honeybuns.
And the origin of the general ideas or interesting suggestions regarding the presence of several uncategorized supernatural entities amongst mankind were, of course, unknown to those who possessed natural or normal minds, with them wandering through their sad little lonely lives not knowing the whole crystalized truth regarding the majestic universe that once surrounded them and embraced their hopes and dreams, cradling them like the ugly infants that they once were. Let the vivid delusions of soft touch experienced in sleep, or in a state of deep, deep brooding, or even conscious daydreaming be the chief aspect on which one could truly grasp the idea of utter evil. The line separating past and present in thought, speech, or writing brilliantly vanished, leaving the slow mind in a state of magical and spiritual bewilderment, in which man could not really withstand the intensity of the magnetic-like force that held the mind captive. Beauty. Kindness. Round breasts. All of that, and none of it at all. Strange.
“Is, was, are, were, will be? Would it?” a voice echoed in the distance “Could it, really?”
A sick black crow stood against silence where truth lay in a bed of bloody thorns, waiting for a death full of heavenly blossoms, angelic in its beauty. He knew it in his purple heart that there was a reason behind all of this, but every time he closed in on discovering it, it merely slithered away within the illusions of happiness, and satisfaction. He saw it, he followed it, he lost it, he strived to catch it, and love it, but when he witnessed this vision it ended the same way as before; it turned into a swan, then a radiant angel of mythical proportions, and soared away into celestial mist. He gazed upon the twilight, with flowers growing out of his majestic brain, wondering when exactly had he lost his perception of reality, and then laughed at himself for daring to question the laws of the heavens and the old, and forgotten gods.
“Was that death?” He wondered “Is that really death over there?”
It was the stranger, the junky, always waiting, always striving, standing there at the train station, shivering like a dead leaf in mid-fall, weak, weak, weak. His mind, already dead from thinking too much about the meaning of what it is to be alive, to be breathing in and out like those who currently gathered around to watch him suffer, to watch him being tortured by his own sodding mind. They all gawked and gapped at him, his shape, his terror, as if caring what becomes of him when all is said and done. And then the train finally came rolling along the line, finally, the waiting was over. He stepped over the edge, and in front of the train. And that was that.
Now you don’t.