by joey aristophanes



It was cold.

Well, that was to be expected, he supposed. It was cold when he'd arrived, so it made a sort of elegant symmetry that it would be cold when he left.

"Left". What a curious way to put it. True, he was leaving, but... for where? He allowed himself a small laugh: for that matter, where had he come from? That was probably a mystery better left unsolved as well.

He gathered the cloak about him. The hem was certainly showing signs of wear, he decided. Well, another few hours, and it wouldnt matter much anymore. After midnight, it would all be... irrelevant.

Midnight Mean Time... he softly laughed to himself: that certainly seemed appropriate. What time he had been given... arguably perhaps not the best. So much... unhappiness. So much conflict. There were moments when he wondered if there was any purpose whatsoever to continuing on this charade. And yet, if he had just left it all, just dropped it and... well, did whatever he would have done at that point... there would have been nothing for... well, whomever or whatever was destined to follow him.

He watched as the sun edged below the horizon… it was the last time he would see it, he realized. Early on, he'd thrilled to the sight of a sunset, almost more than the view of a sunrise. But as the months passed, he had begun to dread them: one more day gone.

Still, it was a lovely sunset, all things considered: the cold, winter sun slowly dipping below the snow-covered mountains, even as the first stars made their appearance. Before long, it would be nothing but stars as the darkness rolled in around him…

… and the last thing he would hear would be the cries of a baby...



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