Mr. Blue VI

How’s you? Grand? Been doing any of the things you thought you’d do? Living that fast life and enjoying it all? However, I wonder, can any of it all go wrong? Surely, you, Mr. Blue, have thought about it all? You pillock. Couldn’t move and get washed away when you finally do?

Mr. Blue hits himself on the head, tries to slap the thoughts away like flies: it’s summer and they’re everywhere: incessant, unrelenting and impervious to Mr. Blue’s feeble attempts at attack. He’d love to go for another cigarette; his mind’s been broken but he tries to remind himself that nicotine won’t fix any of it. It couldn’t hurt much either, his mind’s at least used to that.

Earlier, he tried very hard to sleep the day away. The day just stayed where it was and seemed to last, with every passing second, hours longer. His eyes opened without seeing any of it all. His eyes closed with very much the same results.

He’d been dreaming before, you see. He thought himself the luckiest of colours and surely, nothing could mar the images his mind had conjured up; had allowed itself to believe. He’d thought it through as he so often pretends to do. He’d taken his time, yes, true, a lot of it but, yes, this, truly, wasn’t just a mirage, not just something the scorching temperatures had thrown his way; there were real trees and lakes and water and it was, one could say, if Mr. Blue would be so inclined, heaven on earth. Mr. Blue felt giddy just thinking about that. Mr. Blue though, knows now, nothing lasts.

He knows he exaggerates. He has to be. He wants to believe he is. He isn’t believing any of it. Like a magic trick, like Keyser Söze, like snow in the burning sun: one minute there and just like that; poof: gone.