by Robert T. Tuohey
Cold and dark.
A coldness that more than chills, or bites, or even pierces. Rather a coldness that creeps upon you, pervasive and relentless. It comes over you, then into you. Tingling, needling, then numbing, with a true loving hate. Gradually, imperceptibly, the body, the mind, finally , even the soul itself, grows lifeless…
The darkness too, though itself as much a negative, takes on active qualities. It positively reaches out for you. It scratches, pulls, seeks any hold, its object being to take you into the endless blackness that it is …
Cold and dark.
Heavy and quiet, the snow drifted down from the pitch black sky, piling and piling upon the emptied streets, covering the parked cars, pushing up against the doors and windows of the steel-concrete structures.
A lone figure, unseen by any (save yourself), moved through the storm with an experienced, thoughtful trudge.
Long ago it had come to this man that the endless black above and the spreading white below were not two, but one. True, it had taken many years of searching consideration, but the conclusion had been reached. And it was inescapable.
The universe in which he found himself was an active negative.
Certainly a disturbing revelation (but, then again, what revelation worthy of the name is not?).
Perhaps it had been this that had led the man astray. Or had it been Fate … Or the will of God? Pure chance?
The man however knew that in considering the situation, as these things couldn ' t be known, they didn ' t matter. What did matter was an analysis of all of the available facts.
These facts then boiled down to but two: In an active negative universe, the man found himself lost. This was what mattered.
Or did it?
Mid-step, he stopped, giving this new possibility, this previously unseen avenue, sudden consideration…
On the old hat, on the shoulders of the worn overcoat, flake by flake, the snow began to accumulate. Indeed, though he had been walking for miles, his tracks were visible for but a few feet back, beyond which lay only a flat white overarched by an infinite black.
But the man did not look back. He did not look anywhere at all. There was nowhere to look.
Vaguely, it occurred to the man that he had forgotten, utterly forgotten, where he was going. Then again, seeing as there really wasn ' t anyplace to go, wasn ' t “ imagining to go ” more accurate?
But certainly, this type of imagining was meaningless.
Man however was not meaningless.
In so far as he was sentient, he realized. In realization humanity found its purpose.
But what was there to realize?
Nothing. Nothing at all.
The man sat down.
If it was against a building, a battered garbage can, or a pile of snow, what difference? It served to lean on.
Legs comfortably crossed, hands deeps within the pockets of his ragged overcoat, the cold did not bother him. Now quite relaxed, breathing slow and deep, he simply sat and looked out.
Far, far off down the street, its edges now thoroughly blurred by the still-deepening snow, an intermittent smudge of yellow indicated the slow blink of a needless traffic light.
At street-level the snow-besieged windows were all and one without light. Of the windows above, they too were mostly black. In the few where a glimmer did show it was faint and unsteady. Not even an instant ' s width of warmth disclosed. It didn ' t matter.
What did?
Secure in his revelation, the falling snow meant not a thing. After all, it was best to dwell in nothingness…
Still, the last beats of a fond, foolish human heart could not help recall the things that had been …
Long, long ago there had been an endless azure in which hung a golden disc. That lush light had shown on the greenest of fields.
Those days had passed.
There had been times of clear autumn light, shining through bright morning panes, illuminating the face of one beloved. And night had come.
There had been the work of days. And when the work had been done well (lost though it would be in the winds of time), it had been good.
All in all, the light and the dark, the good and the bad, the filler of flat grey, the heart-breaking beauty and the soul-tearing evil, had been a life. And a life was experience.
Experience that led one on to a greater light?
Some three days later, the snow having let up, the city began to dig itself out.
“ Oh God! ” cried Maggie, throwing the big plow-truck into neutral.
The body, frozen stiff, quite lifeless, looked, nonetheless, content.
“Aw Christ!” groaned Tommy, stabbing his shovel into the thick snow. “Without a doubt, there ' s gotta be one.”
A moment passed as the two city workers stared at the corpse before them, rolled out from the snow-bank like an iced Easter egg.
Maggie had tears in her eyes (it was her first time).
Tommy shrugged his shoulders and dug down into his pocket for his cell-phone.
“Poor bastard must have lost his way,” he said.
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