asklepiades (asklepiades) wrote,
asklepiades
asklepiades

"What was in the boxes?
And why did they go away unopened?"


[ALTERNATE TIMELINE - DON'T ASK]


The boxes this morning were empty. The sweet smell of the blossoms my only resolve.
My eyes shut, open, blinked; already awake.
What was sleep really, but a vapid passage to today.
Skipping all those dreadful nightime hours, one would miss so much.
My feet touched the floor, a silent certitude to my every move. And move I did. Deftly, to the open window, cool air funneling through the hanging blinds. Rectangular aperture to a sensory bliss.
Sofly, petals fell. I listened to each one croon gently against the wind. Gliding back and forth before touching the road.
What a cold end for such beauty, buldging tires raining swift havoc upon them before clamoring to a halt.

On the same soft breeze I turned and trodded down the hall. Silence.
But only for a moment. Here was the kitchen, castle of my culinary majesty! Corners piled high with boxes large and boxes small. Boxes from around the world, and boxes from the grocer down the street. I was not ready to leave.
These, my life's collection, and this, my kitchen. I poured myself a drink whilst I let the mists of contemplation cloud my mind. Coffee, black.

As I reached a deep nirvana I reached out with my mind, to touch and sense each and every box that was slipping away for good. In this moment the world came to me, spoke to me, in waves of color deep and soothing. An acquiescence enveloped. An understanding, understood.

The air trembled with an unfamiliar reverie. Footsteps echoed down the cooridors, set apart from the stillness of my breaths. Somewhere above, a well-lit window turned to grey, clouds covering the peeked eyes of the child sun; he need not see.

Somewhere, somewhere in my house were invaders. Encroachers and depravers. Absconders. My boxes were not safe and I.. I would not let them go.
I would stay this place a little longer, know these smells a little longer, drink these's coffees a little longer. And on that thought I took the first sip of mine, raising up my mask just far enough to enjoy the brew.

Now.

On the chill breeze I turned and trodded down the hall; silent. Here there were men, and brutes of men, all uniformed and in the thick of work.
I hovered down the corridor, gloved fingertips with woe detecting every flaw and imperfection upon the naked sheetrock wall where once my artistry had hung, to them.

Wrist flicked.
Whirrrrrr!
Golden, shuriken, it flew.

And then the moring opened up. With violent cries, a great cacophony of hellish pain! I moved unseen amidst the thieving mover men, dispatching each with great care. Great precision. Great elated glee.

I, in some state of exaulted revelry
thought back. How many times had I known this before?

And then it ended, all their pain. The morning lay still. My boxes at my leisure to be returned to my halls and to my kitchen, to each familiar crevice of my soul.
Each unopened. Each intact.

I smiled a smile that noone would see, and stepped quietly back to
my morning drink.
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