“You see”, said Father Time, “all things eventually fade. Beauty, sorrow, happiness, guilt, pleasure, hurt and pain. It doesn’t really matter, in the end, nothing remains.”
“Nothing?” Mr. Blue despairingly asked, “Nothing?” to no one in particular.
Father Time didn’t feel offended. He’d seen this before. A thousand times, and a thousand times more. He saw Mr. Blue’s eyes fading. He saw the bitter truth of it all settle down in Mr. Blue’s soul. They weren’t built for this. They just weren’t. Their lives too short. Their system not up to the task, not even close. They endured. And then they passed. Scores after scores after scores after scores.
“A memory might.” Father Time heard himself saying, “a memory perhaps, just long enough until the light dies, and when that does, well, it doesn’t really matter, now does it? You’ll never know ‘cause there’ll be no knowing left. Personally, I’d take comfort in that.”
Mr. Blue didn’t hear any of that. He didn’t want to. Too self-absorbed. Too taken aback. Too much of everything and then some; Mr. Blue just sat. Mr. Blue drank his wine and smoked his cigarette, stared long enough into nothingness for nothingness to start staring back. Nothingness wanted none of that; took Mr. Blue by the scruff of his neck and threw him face first right back in the muck.
Mr. Blue heaved and huffed and puffed and heard himself saying: “Tell me darling, true, did I ever mean anything at all to you?”
Father Time looked Nothingness in the eyes and shrugged.
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