On the Passage of Time

The man slowly circled the chair standing in the middle of the room, one hand in his

pocket, one scratching vigorously at an inammation at the back of his neck. Neon lights glared upon his bald skull and a slightest hint of a limp in his walk, a certain weariness of movement, betrayed the mans old age. His lineaments shrouded by the penumbra, his mouth half-open, he approached the middle of the room and shouted, Is this it? Nothing but an empty room and a wooden chair? There isnt even a door! Rather meagre! I am certainly not impressed! Well what were you expecting? Show some decorum. Lavish feasts and luxurious housings should be a thing of the past as you most denitely know! The voice did not so much boom as penetrate deep into the mind of the listener, striking his synapses as though they were chords. But the man did not shy away. He raised his head and a deant boldness appeared on a face, which had been burnt by the sun and swept by the winds. You do betray yourself, said the man, chuckling slightly. I see you cannot judge people. My tattered clothes, my premature ageing should have given you some more insight.
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boxes my housing, leftovers my feasts. If I have not been spoilt by Fortuna, then how can you raise your accusations against he who knows not luxury? He who has lived an ascetic life. A spartanic life, a life of The voice interrupted him, If you are not content with your surroundings, then change them. And hurry up with it as I wont put up with your melodramatic banter much longer. The man looked towards the ceiling with an air of resignation, while the chair disappeared and gave way to a green pasture that expanded along the oor. Blue, cloudless skies shot up and the hard articial light became softer and livelier. How quaint, murmured the voice, which had now trailed into the distance. Well, what about it? Better than that impersonal rat hole. How personal can a stereotypical little pasture out in the open be? Anyway I digress, now that you certainly feel more comfortable I shall ask you some questions. Ask what you want Ill answer truthfully. Yes, yes you certainly will. Not much of a choice there, eh? I guess so. The man started walking towards a small grove of maritime pines that had appeared in the distance, near a coastline that now trailed off to the horizon. What is the difference between the past and present. Nothing but the linear nature of time, said the man, chuckling once again. Im serious about this, so I demand a bit of countenance. I shall repeat myself once more. What is the difference between past and present? The ocean slowly started trembling, waves crashing upon cliffs that had not been there seconds earlier. Cinders and ashes fell upon the landscape, thunders and ashes of light at the horizon. Cities grew and withered; men and women were born, lived, loved, killed and died all around him. Gazing upon the sea the man slowly got younger. The wrinkles smoothed and tufts of raven-black hair began to sprout on his head and soon a boy of maybe some seventeen years stood there on the seashore. His eyes shone with the spark of youth for a moment, an indenite, minuscule amount of time before a dull sorrow matted that sudden are. The man looked towards the sky and asked:
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 At times it seems as though I have lived for centuries. Memories reduced to nothing but mere spectres. Other times they spring into life, become tangible and I revel in them. Revel in their immediacy that makes the present appear like a dream. I dont know I stopped caring Past, present future all united in the spirit, who cares?

Alexander J Bruski *2013