A primitive hand held alter, my only companion in the lonely darkness. I reopen the portal. Biting white light invades my eyes. Cold two a.m. coffee hammers my weary taste buds. My fingers fumble over symbols beckoning the portal to spit a soulless recorded voice into my dry ears. The voice ends, a slow beep, my heart pounds. I beg, I rant, I try to explain why I should get the thing I desire most. If mistakes are explained well, people will let you fix them. Right? I don’t know. Talking too much, more coffee. It is flat, muted, and seemingly dead, like the world feels in the cool dark air. I throw the portal across the room, my angry shouts slam into concrete and are reduced to silence. I have forgotten most of what I said, and I am still pacing. Awake in the deep night and the complication of regret feeling like a stone fist stuck forever in my belly. I offer fantasy dreams of redemption before the dead alter, with its glow holding my gaze. In the next moment I am dislodged. Sunlight licks my cheek. Shadowy demons swim away from the warm yellow light as it crawls forth from distant horizons.
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Copyright © 2018 Zachary W. Gilbert