The rain drips from his wide brimmed hat, pounding against the ground. Standing under a lamppost, he soaks up the only light the cold night allows. Calling into the darkness, his words of doom and despair reach out, grasping at the passersby, who reject his message. Humans have thought these same thoughts, feared the same terrors, and are still haunted by the same judgments. His sign reads, ‘THE END IS NEAR’ but the others ignore him, distracted by their repetitive lives.
Some will not notice his absence tomorrow. Some will be happy that another fanatic has been removed from the limited view of reality. Some, but only a few, will wonder where he is, if he is alright, but they will not lose sleep over him. He sees me approaching, the only one in the crowd that can feel my inner demon. As I step into the light, I let my eyes change to black and he looks into them, knowing just how near his end really is.
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