wake up dead
losing the will to live was in itself disconcerting, but combined with things we could not control was almost to abandon hope, deny optimism and surrender to gods not just denied but entirely unacknowledged
in the case of Gabriel Watkins, mere superstitions derived from fables
but the journey
that uncertain trek he was about to undertake, unsure of distance and duration, a task that could tax his resolve and sap the determination he no longer possessed the conviction for....
and Gabriel had no horse - neither metaphorical nor of flesh and bones
two heavy boots alone would have to serve him - aided by his stout staff of trimmed holly - straight and strong - that he had cut from a transient hedge the previous autumn
these were poor things
simple scant possessions with which to survive but he was not certain that he really wanted to continue to exist. Perhaps he was trusting any, whatever slight future to that barely understood fate
like destiny could it be a cyber coin tossed into a virtual atmosphere to see where it landed and what it brought
Coins, words, intended deeds - all scattered hopefully up into that virtual sky without form or structure - all pitched, then surveyed randomly to see if they landed with any pattern, form or meaning
a pitiful attempt to solicit order from a rapidly disintegrating world.
Oh - how once hopeful ambition had morphed into that eventful lottery of old age
just awaiting the turn of death's card
Peter Hunter 2013
Peter Hunter's full-length works are available on Kindle