The day was as lifeless as any other. The grey clouds looming over me, the unbearable cold biting at my skin as the thin air made me nauseous. I truly hate the winter.
This would be my first meal of the day. I thought as I strolled into the cafe. The smell of caffeine, the fluorescent light, that bulb that only work half the time, and the weird puddle that's always stained the ground. I've lived a long and uneventful life filled without love or joy, nothing brings joy or happiness to me. Nothing but this, of the weirdest things this was all that brought me joy.
Every morning I come here, driven by a mysterious craving for coffee, and it inexplicably brings me here. A two star run down shack of a shop that's barely open. With the power I hold I could get anything I want served to me on a gold platter, whole countries bow to me, I am currently one of the most prominent figures currently around... and yet I can't stop myself from coming here. It is an unexplainable infatuation. Something in the coffee tastes vaguely familiar like I've tasted it before, but it feels like a key detail is missing, hence I can't refuse.y cravings and continuously indulge myself. During this long life I've lived, this is the only thing that brought me not just joy but peace.
" It's ready sir " the barista said as I waved her off.
My first drink of the day. I picked up the coffee, my palm feeling the warm and relaxing heat radiating from the cup. That smell, it was intoxicating but relieving at the same time.
I made my way to my seat and took a sip. YES, this feels nice. I sat at the table for almost an hour intentionally enjoying the drink before leaving. It was a quite December afternoon, the snow a thick brown slush of dirt, mud and ice. The weather freezing, so cold I could feel it through my jacket. Taking a breath I gazed up at the sun, who decided not to show up today, I mean I don't blame him, I despise the winter season, everything about it, from the cold, to the festive air, to the snow, it made me sick but it's not like I could just get rid of it.
After a few hours of walking the streets I finally made it home, as quiet as I left it. I had no one, no fiends, didn't want them. No family, they died so long ago I can't even remember their faces, and no love, because the very concept scares me.
This would become the night that defined the rest of my days. A night as vivid as a lucid dream. For this was my first encounter with it.
Once I entered my house too tired to even take off my shoes I fell on my bed aware of the mountain of work I had to take care of.
" I'll take care of them let me just take a quick nap " I thought to myself.
turning over I glanced at my digital clock. I had spent the rest of my day at work. It was eleven thirty, late for some but not for me, especially tonight because of the spillover of work I had overflowing from yesterday.
A quick nap wouldn't hurt. I thought as I closed my eyes, my lamp still blaring. soon enough I dozed off.
A few hours later I was awoken by an extreme thirst, I hadn't drank water all day, still dreary I reached for my clock, it was three in the morning, setting it down I sat atop the bed and drank from a cup atop my table at the side of my bed.
" What a cold night...God I hate winter " I thought out loud
" I couldn't agree more "
A sound, a voice...Is someone in my room , at this ungodly hour, who it could be. My mind filled with curiosity rather than fear, I had lost my sense of fear about fifty years prior.
" Who is that ! " I said as I reached for my lamp
No response. Thinking back I don't think I switched off my lamp. When the lights came on there was no one there. I was too tired to question it, so I went back to bed. Soon I heard the unforgiving beeping of my alarm. Right I had a meeting today. Slowly and sluggishly I got up staggering and shaking from extreme sleep deprivation, walking to the kitchen I made a cup of coffee, as black as possible. A journalist turned psychiatrist by the name of Geoffrey Ryan wanted a meeting with me.
The thing is I've been running my business for over two hundred and fifty years or so the rumours say, yet I look no more than thirty, with the popularity of the rumour the whole world questioned me and legions of scientist and journalist asked to study and interview me but I turned them all down. They were of no interest to me. That being said I met a man recently and we both had a chat, he was a uniquely friendly person and extremely...odd. Eventually he asked for an interview with me so I decided to humour him. I cleared my schedule and made a date with him. I guess he wanted to study the mental state of a person who's lived so long. I mean, I could've saved him a trip and told him, I barely have a hint of sanity left. After a few hours of exercise, and a morning well spent, I met him at a coffee shop where he sat patiently waiting. I wasn't late by any means yet there he was. And he seemed to have been waiting for a while. I slowly walked to the table where he sat and pulled out a chair.
" Pleasure to meet you sir " he said with a smile across his face
" Yeah...Sure "
That voice. This voice, it was familiar, really familiar. I've heard this voice somewhere before, recently I might add.
" So what do you want to talk about "
" Well let me apologize again for taking up your time, I know how busy you business folk get, but I'll like to order something " he said as he flagged down a waitress .
" Sure ? "
In my life I have met hundreds of people and an overwhelming majority of them were nervous, even if they didn't show it and those that weren't, were reluctant to meet me because of my position, they felt fear, admiration, nervousness, hatred, anger, envy. They all felt human. But not him, he wasn't weary of me at all. From the way he spoke, to his mannerisms, to even his body language. His smile, his phrasing, his demeanor. I was nothing to him. No more important than a random hillbilly on the streets, and as I gazed into his eyes I realized, he was looking down on me. I was unimportant, I was nothing to him no more than an insect, a worm squirming on the ground.