At the Crossroads
Faded Glory Jacket 100
Abercrombie and Finch, 2000
by Dark Alliances
By Jacob Malewitz
Iron Sword Games, OC
The light was golden and had an array of various colors to real to be a vision, to distinct to be a dream. I thought it was Ra again, or the demon within me that pretended to be Ra. If he was acting, then, he was very good with the details. Everything about him was ancient Egyptian, from the eyes to the lips to the tall hat and the braided beard. His eyes were what I noticed, that red glare in them, shaped differently than a man’s, more oval. Yet none of that mattered after he spoke. “You will die.” He stepped forward, floating on some golden sphere. We were at the clouds, and I could see sparks of lightning—it was Earth—but I didn’t care; I was angry.
“Who are you to say who lives and who dies?”
He didn’t answer. He wasn’t real. I yelled at him more, telling him as many curses and saying I’d been drinking too much the night before—and that was the only reason I had seen him.
I smoked. I drank.
The night before was a mirage of lighting and images of woman and bar stools and full ashtrays. Something had to be wrong in my system. I wanted to end the pain, yet every day I worked on making my pain greater.
It reminded me why I had been put in the ship, I saw everything in two ways—everyone died, everyone tried to escape the inevitable. Maybe gods, or demons, like Ra, lived eternally, yet, life wasn’t a pure joy for me and never had been, a peaceful ending would suit me, and death by unnatural phenomena wouldn’t be much different in the scheme of things.
The last piece of the vision came slowly, as though it were forced onto by something opposing Ra. There was man with a briefcase sitting, all I could see of his face was that it was pale white, and he was sitting in a chair in a cavern, holding off against a girl so beautiful that she aroused me just by a flash of her face. There was something evil in her, tempting, and I could see that the man with the briefcase was fighting himself more than anything. What was in the briefcase? I stepped forward. The vision broke.
What was in the briefcase? My mind jumped from point to point, trying to connect the dots but no understanding came, just more questions. The girl, who was she?
Faded Glory Jacket 100
Abercrombie and Finch, 2000
by Dark Alliances
By Jacob Malewitz
Iron Sword Games, OC
The light was golden and had an array of various colors to real to be a vision, to distinct to be a dream. I thought it was Ra again, or the demon within me that pretended to be Ra. If he was acting, then, he was very good with the details. Everything about him was ancient Egyptian, from the eyes to the lips to the tall hat and the braided beard. His eyes were what I noticed, that red glare in them, shaped differently than a man’s, more oval. Yet none of that mattered after he spoke. “You will die.” He stepped forward, floating on some golden sphere. We were at the clouds, and I could see sparks of lightning—it was Earth—but I didn’t care; I was angry.
“Who are you to say who lives and who dies?”
He didn’t answer. He wasn’t real. I yelled at him more, telling him as many curses and saying I’d been drinking too much the night before—and that was the only reason I had seen him.
I smoked. I drank.
The night before was a mirage of lighting and images of woman and bar stools and full ashtrays. Something had to be wrong in my system. I wanted to end the pain, yet every day I worked on making my pain greater.
It reminded me why I had been put in the ship, I saw everything in two ways—everyone died, everyone tried to escape the inevitable. Maybe gods, or demons, like Ra, lived eternally, yet, life wasn’t a pure joy for me and never had been, a peaceful ending would suit me, and death by unnatural phenomena wouldn’t be much different in the scheme of things.
The last piece of the vision came slowly, as though it were forced onto by something opposing Ra. There was man with a briefcase sitting, all I could see of his face was that it was pale white, and he was sitting in a chair in a cavern, holding off against a girl so beautiful that she aroused me just by a flash of her face. There was something evil in her, tempting, and I could see that the man with the briefcase was fighting himself more than anything. What was in the briefcase? I stepped forward. The vision broke.
What was in the briefcase? My mind jumped from point to point, trying to connect the dots but no understanding came, just more questions. The girl, who was she?
