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"Life is supposed to be difficult," he said taking a long swig for his ornate hip flask, "It’s the struggle against the infinite violence of a universe.” I smiled, perhaps he was right or perhaps he was just an asshole making it up as he went along, but the gravity of his remark struck me unexpectedly. The default to life was indeed struggle, for all life not just intelligent life; why would I be exempt. I didn’t care for the man and his insidious gloat of pomposity. Nothing is absolute, nothing certain, which makes the possibilities boundless. The joy of life is making it from one moment to the next through adversity and earning the things the things people say about you when you arrive at your freshly dug grave carried by those you hold dearest.

Friday, 10 March 2017

A Short Story About a Girl on a Train

In a train without destination, on a day such as any, I saw her. A calm centre of swirling rush hour madness; she clung to her man, illuminated by the buzzing florescent lights.

I caught a glimpse in her eyes of something truly remarkable. It had set sail across oceans and reached out to the heavens and it came to me; men had died for this, thousands would go their whole lives without even coming close.

The train rolled through the dark city that couldn’t give a fuck and never knew the thing to save it was in her eyes, because she was in Love. The type of love that broke down, opened you up and spread like rivers of colour.

And the hearts she touched would forever be changed on that day, because they shared her joy. A joy looked upon by the envy of angels.
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1 comment:

  1. Mahmooda Khan-Lowe13 March 2017 at 03:41

    I am sure I am in that type of love, the type that gives an unshakeable confidence and inspires you to be more, give more and live more. Nice piece.

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