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Through the Eye of the Beholder (03, 15, 21)

Part One

By lucyjbPublished about a year ago Updated 8 months ago 3 min read
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Through the Eye of the Beholder (03, 15, 21)
Photo by Clay LeConey on Unsplash

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Every night at midnight, the purple clouds come out to dance with the blushing sky. I am walking with my head up, down crowded streets, people laughing and yelling and crying. They look at me with furrowed brows when I bump into them.

I think that maybe the Dawn Bringer has lost track of time, but I can't find it in me to mourn the darkness and the way the world has changed; I want to become the color, I want to touch the clouds and dance with the sky.

The city is awake in the way the night is awake, and I walk the streets in the light of this purple midnight and watch the skyscrapers touch the sky. I want to touch the sky like they do.

The purple clouds are like waking up from a dream, and I watch the skyline cut a sharp line between them.

I don't know where it is that I am walking.

I think that Tyche herself guides me to the doorway. She leads me to the revolving door, and when I push it open, there is no lock to stop me.

Prometheus greets me in the lobby and he is in high spirits, jovial in a way that puts me at ease. The fire of mankind clings to him like fog and he looks at me with something like curiosity. When he offers me an arm, I think that maybe the fire will burn me to ashes, but in an act of recklessness, I take it anyway.

The lobby is elegant, in a way those fancy hotels always are, gilded with light, it makes the world into celestial dream.

I match Prometheus in his steps; I follow the way he moves, and try to mimic his grace and forethought, but my feet are clumsy next to his and I feel a flush spread across my face; I avoid his eyes in shame. We weave through the hotel patrons, yelling into phones and laughing their fake laughs, their features practiced and painted.

Prometheus doesn't speak but somehow I hear him all the same, and he is telling me about the floors and the windows and the way the chandelier casts shadows that we walk through and become only to walk away and unbecome. He tells me that I am entrancing to him, with my humanity, with the way I feel and the way the world changes me.

I don't quite understand his admiration. I look at the people we pass, living in their worlds and using their time. I tell him that in the presence of one who could change the world, there is nothing so special about being changed by the world.

He only laughs, and somehow I think he can see my ignorance and I think he admires that too.

I don't know why I follow him, maybe because he is beautiful in the way creation is beautiful. My humanity makes me foolish, I suppose, chasing beauty as we do.

When his footsteps slow, I find myself standing in front of an elevator, intricate and gilded in gold, he presses the call button and there is something in the way he marvels at me that is almost unnerving.

Someone talks on the phone as they wait behind us. They tell the listener of wild adventures and longing and the way a person can make everyone laugh, and I like the way their voice sounds.

The arrival of the elevator is mundane and when the cage doors open, Prometheus waves me in, expectant, but I look at him with questions in my eyes.

He smiles at me and it is almost human.

I turn to the person beside me. They pay no attention, laughing into their phone, and press another button that glows with the rest.

I ask Prometheus what he is doing but he doesn’t answer. He smiles at the person beside me and I think that maybe they are blushing. The birdcage slides shut and I am moving up, but I try to keep my eyes on him, and he disappears as I vanish from his sight.

I look at the buttons and the way they glow; every number has its own shade of light.

I listen to the easy flow of the voice beside me. The dog bowl is where it always is! No, I swear the neighbors did it! What are you doing tonight? Want to go to that bar uptown? I don't want to go alone.

They glance at me and I can see that they regret the confession.

I watch the number tick upward, Lobby, Floor One.

When the door opens, they walk with haste out and away from me.

HistoricalMysteryFantasyFableClassical
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About the Creator

lucyjb

writer of words

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