The Puzzle

There are flowers blooming in the pots outside; pretty little things, the colour of artificial grape flavour, all heart-shaped petals and leaves the colour of army greens. It's a shame I'll never give them to anyone, but that was always a pipe dream, I suppose. They never were much for sharing; I knew that when I took them on. They're edible, you know? It's an odd thought, to derive sustenance from something so fragile-seeming. But they grow back every year, in the same spot, and have done for longer than I've been alive. So maybe I'm the fragile one, and they'll laugh at my corpse.

It's sunset, now, or almost to it. The sky's not quite red yet, or perhaps I forgot quite how bright it could be; I haven't stopped to watch one in a long time. The clouds are glowing, right there on the edge of the horizon, drowning out the blue. I hated the sight of the blue sky for a long time, you know; or maybe I just missed the rain, the sound of it falling gaily from the sky, landing on the stone and the dirt, making the whole world bloom. Blue skies - I wasn't born hating them, and I won't die hating them, either. I've too many regrets to let myself do that.

It's funny, you know, how fast things can break down, and how fast that breakdown becomes as monotonous as any other job. The jabs, longer and higher in number, the stone face, rushed forwards and meant to sting, the devil on my shoulder, murmuring and furious. Thus continued my cursed life, just the same as ever. It's a way to exist. I regret it - but I'd do it again, I just know it. Such is my fate - or maybe this was the fairest way for it to go down. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, you know; and my eye was always satisfied.

Text Scanned: 23/01/18