Constant Entropy

   We picked the one bus with the farthest destination to ride out the terminal and cared not to where, just as long as it was away from it all. It was a good start. A backpack’s worth of everything for the both of us, me against the world kind of thing. His arm securely wrapped around me as he slept soundly, dreaming dreams of space and time while I nestled snugly on his firm shoulders. My hand felt the beating of his two hearts, one after the other, powerful enough to make or break this world. He chose me instead.




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   In between clicks and pops the warm sound of good old vinyl fills the room as Frank Sinatra crooned over the phonograph singing something about the end being near. Slumped over the lazy boy with eyes closed, he tries to soak it all in as if conjuring Ol’ Blue Eyes for one last show. He gestures with his hands as the music played on and bled outside the bustling city. A passing postman synced in a hum or two as Frank went on, something about the curtains being final. In between clicks and pops, a gunshot chimes from the inside.




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    He can hear his old watch making constant rhythmic ticks from across the bed filling out the room. The early morning silence amplifies its mechanical oscillations to a monotonous background. He can’t sleep. He tries to shield out grim thoughts from seeping in as he mull things over on the bedside. She seems peaceful in her naked stillness beside him. He motions to touch the outlines on her beautiful face but decides not to; her skin was already cold.

    He dials a number to his phone and waits for someone on the other end. “It is done,” he flatly said.




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    The steady hum of the SUV reassured her. She’s heavy-eyed now from driving two hours straight. The highway stretched out flatly, tempting her to doze off. It’s almost midnight and the radio belted out equally slow tunes. The kids are fast asleep out back and she considers waking her husband beside her to keep company but he’s dead tired as well. She forgot the last time another vehicle has passed by which was fairly odd. She didn’t even notice the road narrowing down like a tunnel as she drove on until the light at end of it is beckoning her.




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   The clouds parted and the sky opened. The cursed few gather around the foothills of the appointed mount and wait as the prophecy begin to unfold the second time. Then the heavens spewed forth guises of angels paving the way to a figure in white known by man. And before them he finally appeared and they were in awe. But his skin was gray with big black oval eyes and spoke in a tongue alien as he is and they were distraught realizing no salvation can be had this day. Death waits to a promise fulfilled. Thus, they walked anew.




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   The Magdalene was greeted with an opened tomb. She frantically rushed inside fearing grave robbers but thankful that there were none. His still body wrapped in shroud albeit in haste. She has come with perfumes and spices to complete the burial. Magician! False Prophet! Liar! Crucify him! These hurtful words silently reverberated within the walls as she proceeded with the ritual. She was a believer, ever since he drove out the seven from her with just mere words ages ago, and as she slowly unveils the burial sheets she is confronted with doubt and green timber where dead flesh was.




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   I plod my way to the blistering heat to the place of the skulls. The land is desolate save for a couple of ancient fig trees as dry as the surrounding region. The people below the valley say I tread on myth or hearsay but most swear on history. I pressed on to a narrow path and begin to feel the weight of my pack like a burden of some heavy wooden cross. The pounding in my head grows louder as I reach hilltop by midday only to witness the sun casting long shadows of crosses where there are none.



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   It only takes a word to change this man’s life but he won’t utter it. I took it upon myself to remind him that every day to no avail. I would sit on the same park bench right across him waiting while he spends most his time drunk or begging for change. It pains me to see him becoming a shadow.

    He often looks to the sky, intoxicated to whatever drink he’s holding, and mutters to himself. And I hold my breath and pray that he utters the word and a bolt of lightning would strike some sense into him.  




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I never made it to the airport. We were in some coffee shop somewhere talking sweet nothings until time ran out. We realized then and there that we cared not about time anyway. In fact, I totally forgot why I have to be in the airport in the first place.Were we planning on going somewhere romantic? Tonight, what matters most, is the promise of me and you and me in you. You stood up and went to the washroom to freshen up while your lipstick smile remained on the coffee cup to keep me company. You never looked back.




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