| Wesley Wyndham-Pryce ( @ 2004-03-03 22:19:00 |
| Current mood: | I don't grasp your meaning. |
Of the many absurdities I've encountered in the past twenty-four hours, the supreme one has to be that a short while ago, I was speaking of hope. Try as I might, the only one of those I can summon forth is that I may have gone completely mad.
I keep coming back to the same image. I'm unable to shake it; it stays in my mind, an idee fixe. I picture it, unlikely enough, as some quasi-phantom form, a wisp of cloud or smoke that bears her general outline. Perhaps even part of her face is visible. As I imagine it, I see it licked, and finally consumed, with flames. Ridiculous Biblical tableau.
Her soul. Eradicated, for all eternity. She's been robbed of whatever perpetual existence follows this one, and is now destined to experience nothing but infinite oblivion.
I envy her.