The world will deconstruct while your eyes are closed, in that split second when you’re not looking. Stars will fall and galaxies will explode, and people will vanish into thin air like trailing puffs of cigarette smoke under a neon light. You’ll be left alone with stardust and ash and a feeling that you once knew the meaning of life, but you forgot to remind yourself to remember.
Fourteen years, three months, and twenty-six days. That’s nothing, after everything you’ve been through, but they were still the hardest. It was hard to think with stardust in your hair and ash in your lungs and the smell of smoke still lingering in the air, and the lights and the sounds and feel of grime on the walls and grime on your skin. It was hard.
Please, don’t blink.
See, it’ll happen again. You’ll rebuild the world, making clockwork people in a clockwork town with no idea they don’t exist, because it’s no fun of they don’t think it’s real, is it? You’ll fashion universes with a twist of your hand and a cancerous cough, breathing deadly life into a world that won’t ever see the sun. This is it. Your autobiography, your last wish, your pièce de résistance, and what a shame. No one will ever know.
This is incredible! It's so... special! I can see in my mind what you've described, as in a very vivid dream. I can imagine how it would smell, taste and sound! To be able to write down such things requires a lot of talent! The subject is also very deep, philosophical almost. Love it
My first thought was of the weeping angels when I started to read your piece! Before I read the description, I just kept thinking, "Don't blink. Don't even blink. blink and you're dead" haha. I like this a lot.