Gravity

There are times shit just starts making sense to me. I wouldn't be able to explain it if you put a gun to my head. It's just a feeling… like a small pinpoint of light in pitch darkness. The light doesn't really reveal anything through the darkness but for once you know what to look at. Your eyes, mind… your entire existence seems to make momentary sense if only to stare at that one point distinguished from the rest. It was one such moment of clarity that hit me as I watched blood stream down my wrists and drip down to the floor below. Gravity doing what it does best… pulling things down with nary a care as to what gets pulled down. For now, it's only my blood. It could have been more... so much more.

I make another cut on my wrist.. clean and not too deep... immaculate.. almost a work of art in itself. The true art, however, is the pain that seems to erupt from the bleeding heart of the wound. I barely feel alive anymore. The pain seems to be the only way to hold on to what life I have left within me. Holding on when something so much more sinister than gravity threatens to pull me down.. tear me apart. And yet, hold on I must for I do not wish to go down.. not right now.. not like this.

They ask me why. Why do you hold on? Give in.. Your resistance is futile.. meaningless.. they say. I can't argue against them.. don't know how to. What I do know is this resistance is everything... the thin line that separates me from them. For they, who have never known pain.. never known loss.. what do they know of what I protect?

I looked at the young woman kneeling before me.. naked, stripped down to the essence of her existence. I grab her arm.. so soft.. hands that have seen no toil.. perfumed.. fills me with disgust.. smells of death and sterility. Maybe I am wrong, maybe she is too far gone. I make a small but deep cut on her arm. I suck the blood directly from the cut.. gravity gets none of this. Disgusting.. the taste of decay lingers in my mouth. My work here is done.

I step out into the cold night air. In a few hours, the house with the young woman would burn down to ashes. The universe would be purged of all memory of my ill-fated meeting with the woman. Money, I am not quite sure how much, would find its way to well-placed hands and that will be the end of it. There is little one cannot do with sufficient money and money ceases to remain a limitation after one has been in accumulating it for over 500 years.