Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

Eh, old dream of mine. It's never left me...
My friends can guess who this is about...
__________________________________________________________

It's the color of cold. Of loneliness, emptiness.
I stood in the soft orange light, peering into the darkness, shivering as the chill wind cut through to the bone. I pulled my coat closed and waited.
He came, finally, stripped of his humanity by the sodium-tinged streetlight as surely and as deftly as the wind stripped me of warmth. His smile was cold, demonic, a million others things, and I felt myself come undone. I sagged back against the wall, senses suddenly all too keen.
Again, the cold, sharp wind.
Again, the soft but dehumanizing orange glow.
The scent of wood smoke-- An autumn smell. The smell of the world dying.
The broken crunch and scuff as he drew near to me, trodding over rubble-strewn pavement and shattered glass.
The faint taste of bile in the back of my throat. I choked, suddenly, gagging on some non-existent substance and I felt my knees buckle. I slid a little lower.
Still he came.
There was no appeasing him. With every step, I felt myself slip. Felt my world fade. Felt the wind grow colder, felt the universe die.
Still he came.
I was nearly prone against the wall when he reached me. My fingers clawed weakly at the dry, brittle weeds forcing themselves through the blacktop.
The moon dissolved overhead. The pavement crumbled into sand as he stood over me. The wind picked up the pavement dust and ran with it, and everywhere, things died.
He did not move. I stared; dully, mutely panicked, till at last he turned, leaving me alone in a world of soft, fine dust and dull sodium light.
The color of cold.