Short Fiction by
Steven Benjamin (2004)
On the corner of fourth and main, stood a man, just about two feet from the curb. He stood, slightly slanted, swaying when swept by an occasional gale.
Nearing autumn, there were scatterings of cloud overhead, although the city did seem to be in a jovial mood, vibrant with all the usual colours. But there I stood – the world passing me by…
I was, for lack of anything better, a mess. My face; more wound than face.
Staring straight ahead, I explored the realms of oblivion – ‘how nice, this culmination of… of nothing’ I thought. I felt a warmth within this impromptu hiatus of melancholy. My life had little worth. My peripherals: enlightened mankind – the living doomed. There is no meaning to life; we all end up the same – worm food, dead matter.
My flagrant nihilism of life.
My mind glides between this enigmatic thing we call life, and my perception of it, like a pendulum, undecided of its true destiny.
Amid my dull gaze, mankind dissolved, the street became deserted; no recognizable signs of life. I liked it, my own unrestricted world – the street emptied. A sensation of serenity aroused within me, as my mind found a strangely awkward yet peaceful refuge within the tormented decay of my soul.
Eyes, light brown, penetrating my still world.
Bedlam! A bus roared passed me, horn blowing. I crashed back down to reality.
...to be continued