Scene One, Take Whatever.
This man, you know, he was an eccentric. An odball, a freak. He slept underneath the stairs in a little enclave with a door. He said he had to keep himself hidden in the dry and in the dark. The way he shaped his vowels, it made a sort of hollow rasp and chilled me to the bone.
I looked into his eyes and I could see ragged edges of the curtain torn. You know the one, a thin veil between insanity and clarity. I couldn't look in them for very long. His lips parted and he spat words out. I felt them fry the edges of my cheeks as they breezed passed me:
"You think you're so goddamn special, yeah you do. Well, I know when you're going to die. Can you say that? Do you have mastery of your fate?"
"No, I don't."
"Hmmph. Pathetic. You're like a house made of breadcrumbs. The wind could knock you over, but oh no. There's a special means in store for you. The house you inhabit will be eaten by the birds."
"Oh?"
"Yes. And what's more, your floor is made of quicksand."
"Ah. How do you know?"
"I see all. I have gained the foresight many have died to attain."
"And with so much sacrificed, I see."
His lip curled in contempt. "What?"
"You have suffered the isolation and imposed trials of your own mind for years and years upon end. To achieve much. But what was it again? Ah, foresight. You have the knowledge to spit in my face with a truth and a hard truth, and the malicious glee to let it shine in your eyes my fear. But you don't see all, my friend."
"No? You mock me?"
I shot him. The look of surprise was almost palatable on my tongue.
Dear Diary, I killed destiny.
I looked into his eyes and I could see ragged edges of the curtain torn. You know the one, a thin veil between insanity and clarity. I couldn't look in them for very long. His lips parted and he spat words out. I felt them fry the edges of my cheeks as they breezed passed me:
"You think you're so goddamn special, yeah you do. Well, I know when you're going to die. Can you say that? Do you have mastery of your fate?"
"No, I don't."
"Hmmph. Pathetic. You're like a house made of breadcrumbs. The wind could knock you over, but oh no. There's a special means in store for you. The house you inhabit will be eaten by the birds."
"Oh?"
"Yes. And what's more, your floor is made of quicksand."
"Ah. How do you know?"
"I see all. I have gained the foresight many have died to attain."
"And with so much sacrificed, I see."
His lip curled in contempt. "What?"
"You have suffered the isolation and imposed trials of your own mind for years and years upon end. To achieve much. But what was it again? Ah, foresight. You have the knowledge to spit in my face with a truth and a hard truth, and the malicious glee to let it shine in your eyes my fear. But you don't see all, my friend."
"No? You mock me?"
I shot him. The look of surprise was almost palatable on my tongue.
Dear Diary, I killed destiny.