Post by Lackadaisical on Apr 13, 2023 3:15:26 GMT
The street lamps flickered in the dim morning light as the city stirred slowly from its slumber. Blearily it’s eyes opened, and the night watch gave way to the day, sleepless sentinels transferring guardianship to the rested relief without ceremony or pomp, the gears flowing effortlessly from shadowy dark to shining morning.
The world shifted from night to day, a little seen phenomenon recorded by only the eyes of those acclimated to riding fences and walking thin lines. The epitome of strength lay within those sleepless nights and the dark circles under their eyes, a testament to endurance against time itself. Caretakers, givers and protectors all, their missions seemed varied but their drive the same; connected by the need of the masses that snored away the stars and dreamt of worlds distant and near.
In the moment before dawn the world became a palette of blue and violet, a lone figure in the street facing what seemed to be nothing but shifting shadows. All of the night shift had its demons, and so it was here. The wind howls between the figures, and suddenly one vanished. The sun broke the horizon and the blue world disappeared, replaced with morning light warm and distant. The remaining figure in the street peered up at the sky, head tilted back as he took a long drag from his cigarette.
Was his mind gone? The illusions of the night had grown strong enough to disrupt his daily routines, his adventures focused upon the shadows that had started in the corners of his vision. When was the last time he had truly slept? When had all of this began? So far he had slipped under the radar, managed to display a normal enough facade to the people he interacted with to hide his nightly battles with what could only be psychosis.
The shadows weren’t real, they couldn’t be. He glanced to his left as he began walking down a by street. Rows of hedges had been torn from the ground, evidence of some creature or natural force working as the night had passed. Only he had seen the creature raging in the night, followed it from blocks away. The damage they dealt was real, whether his hallucinations were or not.
The man took another drag from his cigarette and looked at his dirty nails. What if he had caused the damage? He shoved his hands into his pockets and hurried down his chosen path, the collar of his coat turned up against the cool morning breeze. There wouldn’t be any witnesses. There never were. It seemed a mystery only meant for him to solve, and if it were insanity then he was willing to follow it. At least he had a purpose.
Birds began to sing in the trees around him and he tapped the earbud tucked neatly into his ear. All of these years and the constant was his escape. Books, music, television and games, it didn’t matter so long as reality stayed relative and the mundane became something surreal. Perhaps that was the stem of the insanity, reaching so many milestones in life and reaching no heights beyond the bare minimum to qualify as a functioning adult. Was it any wonder his constantly wandering mind had finally decided a final escape was in order?
“What have you accomplished so far?” he asked the air, startling a cat from behind a nearby garbage can. Talking to yourself, never a good sign. “Sometimes you need intelligent conversation,” and rote memorization.
Twelve hours before he had to be back at work and wear another mask, and for the moment he was lost in his steps, one after the other toward his bed in time with the music in his ears. Scenarios played through his mind, mistakes made, words never said and thoughts abused by the variation of human dialogue. He relived mistakes and joys; imagined those that never happened. This was his life for the majority of the time, frozen within a mind unable to capture what it experienced. No words could express the infinity of his mind’s wandering after so many years of gathering knowledge and ever craving more.
It became a problem when thoughts became abstract, beyond the scope of anything perception could describe. His mind was two thousand years of origami so dense it’s center became molten, a paper globe setting flame to itself.
The world shifted from night to day, a little seen phenomenon recorded by only the eyes of those acclimated to riding fences and walking thin lines. The epitome of strength lay within those sleepless nights and the dark circles under their eyes, a testament to endurance against time itself. Caretakers, givers and protectors all, their missions seemed varied but their drive the same; connected by the need of the masses that snored away the stars and dreamt of worlds distant and near.
In the moment before dawn the world became a palette of blue and violet, a lone figure in the street facing what seemed to be nothing but shifting shadows. All of the night shift had its demons, and so it was here. The wind howls between the figures, and suddenly one vanished. The sun broke the horizon and the blue world disappeared, replaced with morning light warm and distant. The remaining figure in the street peered up at the sky, head tilted back as he took a long drag from his cigarette.
Was his mind gone? The illusions of the night had grown strong enough to disrupt his daily routines, his adventures focused upon the shadows that had started in the corners of his vision. When was the last time he had truly slept? When had all of this began? So far he had slipped under the radar, managed to display a normal enough facade to the people he interacted with to hide his nightly battles with what could only be psychosis.
The shadows weren’t real, they couldn’t be. He glanced to his left as he began walking down a by street. Rows of hedges had been torn from the ground, evidence of some creature or natural force working as the night had passed. Only he had seen the creature raging in the night, followed it from blocks away. The damage they dealt was real, whether his hallucinations were or not.
The man took another drag from his cigarette and looked at his dirty nails. What if he had caused the damage? He shoved his hands into his pockets and hurried down his chosen path, the collar of his coat turned up against the cool morning breeze. There wouldn’t be any witnesses. There never were. It seemed a mystery only meant for him to solve, and if it were insanity then he was willing to follow it. At least he had a purpose.
Birds began to sing in the trees around him and he tapped the earbud tucked neatly into his ear. All of these years and the constant was his escape. Books, music, television and games, it didn’t matter so long as reality stayed relative and the mundane became something surreal. Perhaps that was the stem of the insanity, reaching so many milestones in life and reaching no heights beyond the bare minimum to qualify as a functioning adult. Was it any wonder his constantly wandering mind had finally decided a final escape was in order?
“What have you accomplished so far?” he asked the air, startling a cat from behind a nearby garbage can. Talking to yourself, never a good sign. “Sometimes you need intelligent conversation,” and rote memorization.
Twelve hours before he had to be back at work and wear another mask, and for the moment he was lost in his steps, one after the other toward his bed in time with the music in his ears. Scenarios played through his mind, mistakes made, words never said and thoughts abused by the variation of human dialogue. He relived mistakes and joys; imagined those that never happened. This was his life for the majority of the time, frozen within a mind unable to capture what it experienced. No words could express the infinity of his mind’s wandering after so many years of gathering knowledge and ever craving more.
It became a problem when thoughts became abstract, beyond the scope of anything perception could describe. His mind was two thousand years of origami so dense it’s center became molten, a paper globe setting flame to itself.