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Copyright reserved. No part(s) of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, transcribed, stored in a retrieval system, or translated into any language in any form by any means without the written permission of the author. "12:22" by Matt Gentry
His eyes awoke with a start. Slowly they cleared their morning sleep, still misted. A hand reached for his glasses and set their wire frames on his face. He stumbled into the shower, letting the warm water wash away the sins of past nights. His freshly-pressed suit lay on the bed and he slid it on, the cotton fibers tight against pale skin. His shoes, dark a moonless night, were tucked under the bed. Time silently ticked away as he laced each shoe. He passed a mirror and took one last look. Never before had his face seemed this weathered, never this old. He ran a hand through the black matting of hair covering his head. The door awaited and he stepped in front of it, not wanting it to open, but knowing in the end it must. He stepped out, the bright light flooding his senses. Turning, he started his walk. Everyone he passed grimaced and stared, never knowing the man, but well aware that his reality would soon become their own. The man continued his journey, ending in front of another door, smaller than his own. Again he stepped through, not quite realizing its meaning. He sat heavily in the old, leather chair, in which so many had before him. His face felt naked, barren, as his eyeglasses, having always seemed like a burden, now removed their protection. The individual before him set about his work, an expert, having done countless in his time. The chair felt oddly cold as a new feeling came over him. He didn't know why, having prepared for this and knowing what to expect. Still, he couldn't help the newly found emotion. Without realization, it began. His vision clenched tightly shut, and as he thought back to images of his childhood, tears spilled from his tired eyes. They bolted open, bloodshot and woeful. A small cry escaped his lips as he felt the electricity course through his broken soul. A beautiful, pure light filled his vision and he knew. The once strong mortal's body grew limp, tired. The guardian looked up. "Time of death....12:22." THE END
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