A NIGHT OF BRIEF TALES
by David Eide .

The powers he had thought left him had returned. He was quite thrilled by it. Oh, those old powers leave the spirit and never come back. We are forced to wear the terrible, stinking skin of disillusionment then and grow bitterer. He had thought it was fait acomplii, after all, he'd seen it in others. They thought themselves incredibly powerful, insightful, and indestructible and then some devil, some agent would enter the picture and tear it all down. It was a hideous humiliation. He could barely stand the thought that others he loved would soon experience this awful state of being.

"Ah, I will save them or, more precisely, I will warn them!"

He was always on the outlook for the few who appeared they had not yet entered the dark side of disillusionment. Some of them had entered it at the age of 15 and then cured themselves, miraculously, and were now in their twenties, fit for life. Others were in their mid-40's still children, still protected and controlled by the conscience of the parents. Na´fs. Children. And so proud, it was heartening to see much pride in them! But the devil in life would intercede and take them away. They would never be the same but, somehow, they would recover and go on to live blissfully anchored to the responsibilities the culture set out as their right and duty.

Come then monstrous devil of a world and wreak your havoc!

So, the Loki among them said and then there was quiet. After all, in the modern age no one wanted harm to come to anyone even though it was assumed all who lived must die; must perish and disappear from the good Earth. What is this logic? He had thought to himself on more than one occasion.

Ah it is the logic that leads to God. But then, we refuse and wait our fates and let life clean up after the mess.

Warnings are pretentious and serve no good. Better that time drives through all people and let it be, let it go. Time will stand up the idiots and make them perform when things are still and boring. We want the whips out cracking the afternoon air as though the time is eternal yet deeply circumscribed by the knowledge that many have come before us. Oh many! They fear to admit you but we bow and say, good tidings to the many who are and never were."


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