The Way of the World

Their eyes locked, the feelings flowed between them like a river after a rainstorm. She was so beautiful, he thought. Golden hair and sky blue eyes. An angel. He was so beautiful, she thought. Raven hair and blood red eyes. Once an angel. They started toward each other, smooth measured movements, anticipation thick in the air and almost palpable. Their love about to be made known.

Then it happened, like a floodgate had been opened, the ones in white shirts, button down and formal, black pants, sometimes ties. Men women and children poured into the small lobby, shoes making no sound on the white marble floor. They rushed in and stopped behind the golden haired woman, if you could call her that, echoing her slow measured movements. The lobby was large; they were not halfway to each other yet. Once again, as if some release was flipped, movement erupted. The ones in black, ragtag, no two alike, the only thing linking their garments was the consistent black, with the occasional blood red accent. Men women and children poured into the balconies and on top of the reception stand, the receptionist oblivious. The glass in the entrance doors exploded and more poured in, none of the business men scurrying by even noticed, still pushing open the ruined metal skeletons of the glass doors as they came and went. The ones in black paused, coiled, like snakes, or large cats on the prowl, crouched on the balconies or craw-walking in step with the red eyed raven haired man, if you could call him that, echoing his slow calculated movements.

For what seemed like an eternity they came on toward each other in their careful waltz. His red eyes flashed with desire, her blue-white eyes echoed and returned his sentiment. The ones in white organized and trooping behind the woman, rigid and militant. The ones in black crawling down the walls or shambling and gliding along behind the man, venomous and full of cat-calls and curses said in hissing voices under their breath. The white ones completely silent. After a time that cannot be measured in minutes, only in breaths or heart-ticks or the beats of humming bird wing, they were face to face. He lifted a hand to brush a tear from her face. Cacophony erupted. The ones in white flew past the woman, breaking around her and her lover like a rapid around a boulder. The black ones met them, completing the circle around the two. They stared at each other as the battle raged around them. He pulled a dark short sword from the air, it’s red blade gleaming with vicious intent. She pulled a large spear, white as driven snow, from the air around her, it’s tip gleaming gold and engulfed in flames. They both smiled. A single tear ran down the man’s face, her face was already tear stained. In one fluid motion she ran him through with the spear and he, throwing the sword into her chest, burst into flames. She staggered and fell face first into his ashes. What a beautiful dance, she thought as her life-force slipped away.


Their eyes locked, the feelings flowed between them like a river after a rainstorm. She was so beautiful, he thought. Golden hair and sky blue eyes. An angel. He was so beautiful, she thought. Raven hair and blood red eyes. Once an angel. They started toward each other smooth measured movements, anticipation thick in the air and almost palpable. Their love about to be made known.