Night rested on the leather chair with his feet spread outwards and stretched, his hand resting his eyes and nerves by the edge of the coffee table and his other arm removing his shades to put them back in their grave.
“Sunny! Grab me a glass of water would you?” Shouted Night into his empty abode, his voice died down and his echo had seen itself out of the door momentarily. All that Sunny could do in this moment, was pour the water through Night’s eyes down his shirt, staining them like paint on tiles, not easy to ignore when committed.
Night sat on his throne of broken nails, each point rammed waves of pain through his body that ebbed like the tides of the high seas. His body had grown to invite the feeling, which was a move on from when the waves initially began. Their ripples eroded Night’s pillars on which he stood until they chipped into chalices for the blackened blood that ran within him. Scratching his grey beard and stroking away his hair from his brows, Night groomed himself to the best of his current abilities amidst the warfare that was spinning opinions within him.
He has pale white eyes, when he removed his shades in public, the children were struck with awe and the adults with shock, both to which they experienced and saw things they have never seen before. Night never saw them again, pieces of his soul lost to the void like the shattered glass on the dash as they ripped open the sky and rained blood on the floor. He had lost everything he ever achieved and created.
Before Night had settled down for the evening in his chair, he had taken a walk in the park when he overhead a kid telling his mother “Mom! Look at the sky, it’s like cotton candy and orange juice, it’s so pretty!” he said. Night could almost touch the colours with his appendage, taste the sky and savour it one last time for all it’s worth. He thanked the kid in his steps and carried his carcass back to his shell.
Night groaned and creaked as he tried to sit up and out of his chair, his body no longer the same, his mind, no longer in this world. He sat himself down in the passenger seat of his car, turned the key and folded his eyes and threw them out of the window into his garage floor. He could finally see everything. Eyes no longer held any amount of significance to the compass within that could lead the way. No matter the direction, he knew he’d find his way back to his soul.
Streaks of red and white ran past his making their mark on his car and shattering his window to touch him and caress him, to show him the heat and fire that he’d lost. He saw his direction, he saw his life back in his hands again, he saw, something that he never truly did or stop to do when he had hands that could feel. His final act of living was marked by rebirth in an ironic convergence of an unshared and undeserved fate. Yet Fate never saw him either.