Phoenix Plummets

Impulse.

An indecisive gut accompanied Phoenix’s morning, where the coffee he
chugged was sipped with the consistency of a child trying to concoct a
scenario of a tea party not knowing that the effect of it on his elders are
that of its Boston counterpart on an English tea merchant. His broken
marriage failed to annoy him to the extent it normally does,his feet
however felt otherwise and strongly so, they felt a need to clarify to him
the indecision that governed their usually mapped out discourse. “Will
you stop shaking your damn legs?!” Martha yelled from across the
hallway he sat in, flipping half burnt pancakes. She had given up way
before Phoenix ever could, startled by her starcrossed voice he sprayed
out the only delicacy his mouth enjoys throughout his day, he started
wiping off the ebony liquid that had graced the outworn table, which grew
weary of the tortures that made it compulsory for Phoenix to have
become this anxious mess of a person.
The chipped wall wore the medals that were awarded to Phoenix, putting
up a facade of pride, but a rusty hue laced the relevance that they might
have held if live pigeon shooting was still a sport.
He stood up cleaning the drops that had made themselves home on his
russet coat, walking towards a mirror he tried fixing his hair," Don’t go,
please don’t go, I beg you" he heard the voice of his deceased daughter
from the mouth of the man that looked into his soul as he dared fix his
hair in the mirror, the comb that had kissed his hair for the last 25 years
because no one else would, his only source of comfort, had now fallen to
the depths of an unreachable chasm of discomfort characterized with the
morbid expression that settled on Phoenix’s face, quite the contrary of
the pale man who wished not to break away his horrid stare. Martha’s
piercing shriek came to the rescue and helped him see what the mirror
was so desperately trying to convey, reality.
He walked down the stairs, the carpet on them had become so familiar
with his only pair of shoes that the comfort they could bring to his anxious
feet was like no other, he felt the routine settling in again he felt dead for
the first time this morning,he was happy. He felt like greeting the new
guard with a warm smile only to be hit by the coldness of a man that had
been so broken down by his surroundings that he’d settled down for
forgetting the methods of the civil society.
On his walk to the train station he saw a man with two ladies they were
going on discussing the vile affairs that are often characterized with the
dark of the night, his eyelids just realized how long they had went on
without blinking, what hid behind the eyelids however decided against
the procedure for when he did blink, his eyes wished they never had
because the three absurdities that so responsibly graced his walk to the
morbid rest of the trains, were now actually naked and getting
procreative. His feet now forgot all comfort that disguised his walk up
until this point. The carpet of the stairway had failed for the first time in a
lot of years. This had been a weird morning.
The comfort that he saw in the man’s eyes who had settled in and had
given in to the fact that his daughter was no longer with him, made him
experience envy,mostly because his comfort was such that be decided to
joke about the death of his daughter. The ecstasy in the man’s eyes who
sinned was amazingly the same amount that phoenix had felt in his entire
life, his feet had now realized what the anxiousness was about and with
closure came impulsiveness for he was now determined to quit his source
of livelihood along with the marriage that forced it upon him, he thought
about turning around and doing that first but in his list of priorities
arranged while keeping in mind the uneasiness that came with them, he
decided quitting the job would be a nice start to his new life.
On the train station he hopefully waited for his reflection that came with
the locomotive that was responsible for a fare share of his social
miseries, he loved his reflection because that’s the last of himself he saw
before his image was slaughtered by the men who worked at the quarry.
The train made it’s way on to the platform, but before Phoenix could catch
his distorted image on the reflective panel, his eyes caught a man rushing
towards him in his peripheral vision, his reflexes did not betray him unlike
others, he decided to dodge his rush, which caused the man to collide
head first into the reflective panel of the five chimer bellowing
procession, the head of the man became one with the panel, shattering
the pre-constructed image Phoenix’s mind caught as he completed the
turn his reflex induced, he then saw what was left of the man who’s head
was now part of what was once the shy reflection of Phoenix.

The collision had caused the man’s head to change its state of matter into
a liquid, a hand grinded against the edge of the platform using the friction
the side of the train and the edge of the platform made, and made it’s way
on to the platform, he looked around, his bodily movements so fluid, he
had never been this comfortable with his surroundings, as soon as he got
to that realization, the piercing pain, starting from his fingertips soared
through his entire body like the pain is what owned him, the pain is what
made him, the pain is what rendered him undone. The adrenaline he felt
was akin to its dosage he felt in the summer of 1900, the broken glass
hesitated to reveal the contents of the bogey, as if trying to shield the
inner mortals from the unearthly outside, failing its heart it opened
slowly, moving with it the body stuck, the scene was as explicit Phoenix
had ever gotten to with a man, nothing can top the intimacy one shares
with the man they accidentally killed, and now just happen to be staring
at, courtesy of the morbid curiosity that fueled his neck’s movements to
fixate his gaze some 20m east from where the collision happened, the
man’s bottom hanging from his cadaver shook as a parting gift to
Phoenix. He felt horrific not because he killed a man, but because he
stared at his twerking bottom for more than a few seconds, he passed
out.
Waking up a few minutes later he felt an overpowering pain that subdued
the former, his throat was drier than a dried autumn leaf waiting to be
stepped on, but his throat didn’t have to wait as long an infinity the leaf
has to, he had woken up to a familiar horrifying voice.