>Look at how they crawl around upon the ground like little ants.
>Yes, but how they fascinate, confusing fate with what is merely chance.
Prologue
What is life without control?
….
The echoing chimes of silver bells quieted the bubbling chatter within the Cathedral, signaling the beginning of a service. The ringing began to gradually quiesce into silence like a baby's cries being lulled by its mother, that not being long lived as the clanking of hard shoes were heard approaching, must be a new pair.
Each step he took brimmed with self proclaimed significance, harboring equal amounts of worth and sententiousness just because he had the skills to show.
His locks were short like the nails of summer, as black as the inky night, glistening just like the twinkling stars that try to illuminate it, face as pale as the moon and under eyes as smoked as its craters as well as his sixteen packs . The dullness of his eyes were as profound as aged paint on a car. They fought to enrapture whatever minuscule ambition he gave, like a flickering fluorescent bulb trying its best to stay lit under the midnight gloom.
Whether you took it literally or metaphorically,
He really was a dead man walking in the best and worst possible way.
The expression he constantly wore was nothing short of an enigma, so much so that you could forget. Those with even half a brain knew that he wasn’t one to be tested at least not directly.
He was the voice you could never speak,
he was the screaming silence after an argument .
He was well aware of his worth and jurisdiction as he paraded it like a badge from a memory that doesn't want to be remembered , not from unpleasantry, just from the lack of the unknown. Not hesitating to chew you up and swallow you whole like the worms he ate as a lad if you ever so slightly step out his line.
That was the type of individual he was, or rather what he came to be, not from growth, but from listening .
The male stopped behind the altar, raising a long hand to adjust his cross and turned on his heels to face his followers before clearing his throat.
“The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and love of God, along with the holy spirit be with you all.” With raised arms he greets, his voice as smooth and as rich as the hum of red wine after a long day and it sat there for even longer, its taste brings a slight tang at the end .
Rewarding and addictive. Homely yet suffocating. Temporary but all the more permanent. Something to cope. It is a sin, do they indulge? Of course.
Opening the doors of the day’s worship.
~~~~°
Followed up by the dusk of the day’s service, depicted by the bells of dismissal.
He watched as his followers vacillated out of the building like a herd of cattle.
Sighing out his chest once the last of the members were out of sight. Leaving him with himself, which wouldn't be much of a problem if it had not been so… quiet. He likes quiet. Hell, he actively searches for it, but not this, not quiet.
There was nothing, no dogs barking,
no padding of small feet against stone floors,
no rustling in the kitchen, no movement, no noise.
The air hung full, a guttural hum. Making even the most comfortable disturbed.
It felt weird, uncanny. Like a dead infant, though the nursery remains. The body wants the baby, wants its reward for that near trade of life for another that hasn't lived, but the baby's gone. It felt like something wrong but never bothered to be acknowledged, like some archetype of liminal space, something a human wasn't meant to be exposed to, but did otherwise due to a glitch in the matrix. Like an empty school on a school day, which would usually mean an easy break, but you don't go there.
His head was a boulder and his neck Sisyphus, wondering if the blood was following him, his eyes felt heavy as if a palm were pushing them down into their sockets. His nose felt like it had breathed in water.
God, he was tired.
He had made sure to keep his steps as light as he allowed so as to not further pain his aching joints. Stopping just at the doors, open doors. It smelt wet outside, must have been drizzling. There was a light wind from North, cool enough for sleep, everything felt so fresh and free after rain, though that was rich coming from him.
It began to pick up, the wind as if the world didn't want him to be happy even if for just a moment.
The chill chewed and licked at his nose,
he closed his eyes instinctively, perhaps not fast enough for it dried them. What was this love-hate relationship between him and nature?
He blinked for a couple more, squinting this time as he walked behind the door with a new reason.
Giving himself time to catch his breath and stretch. It was nothing flashy, only a few hip rotations on each side to hopefully coax a much appreciated crack. But to his demise he only felt a small pathetic “pop” in what he'd assumed was his mid waist, which was more like a still crackle than anything. Twisted again to the same side, he felt a tinge of resistance like trying to eat tough meat off the bone. It felt a little sore after, maybe that was enough for today.