He looked in the mirror. At 2:47 am, he could not sleep. The dim lighting emitting from this window reflected his image in the mirror. He dared not switch the light in his room. He felt ashamed.
His soul was wrestling with his spirit. He looked into his faintly reflecting pupils. He saw the remnants of a defeated warrior. He felt in his heart a weak pulse give him life. He knew he would never take his life. But he wouldn’t mind if it was shortened.
The cold stare from the mirror began to wear him down. He looked away. He still did not want to switch the light in his room. He walked towards his window. His curtains were a fine filter for the outside world. There is a charm about the dark. The darkness does not judge. People become who they truly are when masked by darkness. The shy girl during the day hides herself in books and in quiet corners of the library. Yet under the veil of darkness, she becomes a goddess that men worship and desire. Darkness is a mask that allows humans to be who they truly are – even the evil ones.
While he stood by his window, a shadow slowly emerged. It was quite a distance away but it was clear to his visible eye. At first, he thought it was one of his neighbourhoods. After all, it was a Sunday morning. Clubs and taverns closed their doors at 2 am. He did not make much of it until the figure came closer to his window.
He did not feel afraid. However, he felt intimidated by the figure's stature. It was large yet elegant in shape. The figure wore a robe that looked like was made from fine silver silk. The fabric danced with the light that reflected off it. The closer the figure came, the clearer it became. He realised that this was not a human. But he was still not afraid.
“Let me in, boy,” the figure told him. It stood about a stone’s throw away from the window. Its voice was clear. It was bold. It beamed with authority. The figure’s voice sounded like the growl of an angry dog but it was as smooth as the silk robe it wore.
He was still not afraid. His soul felt like there was nothing to fear about the figure. His spirit knew that the figure was from Heaven but had not lived there in aeons. He was eager to know why the figure had paid him a visit. He let it in.
He walked to the front door. He switched on the lamp in the living room before unlocking the door. As he was turning the key to unlock the door –
“No need, come join me,” a voice behind him told him. He knew it was the figure.
A bead of sweat broke on his forehead.
“Don’t be afraid boy, I mean you no harm,” the figure said.
He felt his heart beat three times faster than normal. It felt like a drunkard trying to play soccer. He felt weak at the knees. But weirdly enough, the emotion he was feeling was not fear. It was something else. Nonetheless, he figured it would be in his best interest not to make the figure impatient. And so, he turned around and went to sit next to it.
Under the lamp light, the figure was beautiful. Its skin was smooth. It looked like burnt caramel. It had the skin of an individual who has seen and lived many lives. It looked like the skin of a beautiful girl who had lived in the nightlife longer than she should have. It looked like the skin of a handsome man who had seen one too many murders. The figure was no longer in the silk robes it wore when it was outside. Instead, it wore a beautiful dark, midnight purple three-piece suit. It had a pocket watch chain swing from the left chest pocket to the right pocket of the pants of the suit. By the distinct features, he could that the figure was a male. The figure proceeded to light a cigar.
“Do you want one?” The figure asked.
“No, I don’t smoke,” He replied.
“Why?” The figure asked.
“It’s not good for you,” He replied.
“What? You want to live forever or something?”
“No, but I don’t want to live a bed-ridden old man’s life”
“But who said you’ll get old in the first place? What gives you the confidence to believe you can control time?” The figure said. As he said this, the chain of his pocket watch flashed a burst of quick short light hues of neon green beams.
“No but smoking is not good for you” He replied.
“So is the sugar you pour in your tea. Who told you smoking is not bad for you? Do you that Native Americans see tobacco as a medium they use to communicate with the Heavens?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Yet here you are, Mr. Health First ready to tell me that smoking is bad for you. If smoking a cigar is bad for you, why do wealthy and powerful men smoke it daily? Some knocking on a 100 years of living?” The figure said.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Now, I’ve given you something to think about. And understand that this is not about this beautifully wrapped cigar I am enjoying. Once you understand what we have talked about, you’ll no longer look into the eyes of a dying man in the mirror.” The figure said.
And with a powerful puff of smoke, the figure disappeared.
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