Death’s Playbook

It’s hard to fight against such a friendly foe, to ignore its whispering promises of a rest long awaited, a peace long forgotten when one is so desperately sought.

The distorted images of a thousand yesterday’s and infinite tomorrow’s play over and over in a finally silent mind as the scratchy black and white film reel of an unfamiliar life.

I watch from my comfortable perch above, the moments un-lived, paths un-explored and I try to take in what was and measure it against what could have been.

I’m mesmerised but tired. Too tired to make meaningful associations from my share of this incarnation, there’s so much I have missed, so much I couldn’t see. I’m impatient to know all of our life’s lessons but I lack the stamina and must rest and heal before I can continue further in this journey.

Death stares at me from the corner of the room, he tips his hat and takes a long draw from his thin cigarette smiling a wry smile, mischievous eyes glistening in the moonlight. I sense I’m forgiven for now, but as I fall towards the earth below I know the beat of my heart is still on his terms.

I snap back into my body like a jolt of lightning, gasping for air in the darkness, my skin fizzes into a cold sweat and I try to hold onto those images for a moment, from the playbook book of my life, but it slips away and disappears into the ether as though it never existed at all

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