Past is Prologue.
He was gone the year before he left, packing a bag of necessary things that grew lighter as he waited... always wondering when and where he was to go. With each passing day, the clock in his head ticked louder, while in his mind, his feet seemed to grow heavy as his resolve seemed to grow light. The one thing he still knew for sure was that the day of his departure was imminent, and any and all plans that he made leading up to the accomplishment of it all were at best ill-conceived, and at worst utterly useless.
He understood now that the factors which contributed to his pending unexpected departure had been stripped of all meaning, much like the plans that went with them. That... and what had once been a well-reasoned sequence of solid grounds for action on his part, were now reduced to little more than feelings or sense-motivations, much like those of a mouse in a maze, seeking cheese. And his words, once one of his better friends, had lately failed him... and he found himself reduced to simply moving forward through his days on impulse or worse yet, mere repetition... like some badly acted, George Romero zombie.
Thoughts that once seemed most wise now held no wisdom at all. They were stupid, and long-winded, and reeked of the need to explain themselves, and lately he noticed that the passing of these thoughts was no longer measured in days or weeks, but with the death of former Presidents. Years were now decades, and the things that had made the most sense once, not only made no sense, but had lost all need to be discussed in the company of those whose futures were most dependent on the outcome of their consideration.
And he knew that it was all up to him...
Copyright © 2011 Bill Friday
