Don Mann: Focusing on my Craft

Sunday, Nov. 30, 2003 - 2:33 a.m.

"...he looked into her eyes, and in that moment of mutual understanding he knew the answer to questions he hadn't yet asked. A sigh escaped his lips, and as the air flew from his lungs it seemed to carry (at least in part) his soul, and the tears began to form in his eyes. A hole inside him was widening, an abyssmal black aperture in his spiritual being, it hurt him in a way he'd felt all too often, this pain had haunted him his entire life. A question which had remained unanswered, threatening as such, had just found its true response. 'Will I never find love...will love always be that one-way dead end street I've been imagining it to be?' The answer, of course, lay in her eyes. The cold stare which saw through him didn't see him as the warm orb of ardent and loving energy and care, the selfless image of compassion, but saw him as this drone-like figure, a figure which blended in among the masses of human flesh undistinguished. Ice gripped at his heart, he turned away quickly, a gasp drawing into him the icy air which seemed a thousand degrees colder now; frigid as death. Frigid as the woman at his back, frigid as the world which swallowed him, numbing him into blind pursuit of transparent dreams and hedonistic fumblings with meaningless flesh. A voice as pale as the snow which was accumulating outside crept out from his throat. He mumbled an excuse, a barely coherent sound bite which would mask his raw emotions, but permit him leave of this room, this deathtrap of a basement, this dungeon which had imprisoned his heart..."

"...science explained to him how he was going to die, when and where he'd already decided. Happy birthday, down to the second. However, the only question that remained was why...he turned his eyes skyward, let out a hollow chuckle, then turned his attention back to the ground. That gelid creator had never once responded to his queries, only a fool would expect that of him now. He looked out across the frozen forest spread out before him, his breath-fog creating a curtain which partially obscured his view. Indifference; as stiff and cold as the society and fate which put him in this position filled what was left of his heart. With a last deep, icy inhale he pressed the cold steel to the flesh of his temple and squeezed the..."

~The story is still being written, with each day and second of my life...Don out

Delve Into The Past - Onward Into The Future