The man walked through clouds of endless grey.
Didn't know where or how he got there,
but he did know that it was a Monday.
Or was it still?
He was confused and tried to remember the last hour
but shook and trembled
and knew time had somehow spoiled,
went sour.
The way home had shifted, twisted and gotten lost.
He saw someone ahead.
He would ask where he was
for his steps had gotten crossed.
A figure stood, silence surrounding the two.
Before a mouth could open,
the wanderer's fear exploded, spiraled and flew.
Stretched tight across the face as smooth as bone
was nothing but blank whiteness.
The traveler froze.
He
had no refuge.
They were alone.
The enigma stretched out to touch the face of the traveling man,
but he could not even scream or know where truth was,
only cursed and ran.
He fled into the plain,the distance,the far away sky--
strangely hot, dripping in sweat,
despite the figure's cold touch near the corner of his eye.
The traveler searched for an end but saw only a thick, pale mist and
blank bodies surrounding the land.
Losing what past he had, flesh slipping into weakness, collapsing,
he was no longer able to stand.
He had little left, he found no beauty or meaning or strength.
His path slid into vastness and was just a lonely, empty length.
His face was cradling the ground, his eyes closed to desolation ahead.
He tried to remember what he'd done to deserve this fate,
but no answer was in his heart nor in his head.
Fingers touched his temple, sending a frozen chill through his flesh.
The wanderer looked up to a beautiful young woman and
swallowed his breath.
She was one of many before, her face clear, radiant and bright.
She was one of many before, the wanderer's deeds were beginning to
come to light.
The ragged, bloody slash ran through her neck, part of his handiwork.
He had been near her before, seeing her lock the shop door from
behind a hedge where he lurked.
She smiled a smile of power, standing over the body of the man
who stole her life.
The blank figures appeared, their faces materializing,
each woman smiling that smile,
each a victim of his old, rusty knife.
The pain surged through his gut, the kind that ripped through her skin, sinew and frame.
Live by the sword, die by the sword, he'd once heard before he took on his life's shame.
Then he cried, remembered and understood that this was the end of his game.
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