He awoke in damp cover sweat. The cold about the room slid down the dusty walls like the heartless smile of alabaster. A faint tune echoing through a forest of columns in a darkened palace that he had just thought he once knew. But of course, the voice behind it was dead. Long dead and forgotten save for those like himself that were approaching that edge. One dry smelly shirt was hunted up by touch in the pile at the bottom of the hall closet to quickly replace the wet one that pressed shroud-like upon him. The sheets and covers were drenched. How much exercise had he expended in the ebony dark paradise? That voice sonorous at the top of its register still echoed between his ears in the fiction of the inside of his head. He padded about shirtless feeling the chicken skin. Running the palms of both hands up and down his flanks up offer his own buttocks and up over his chest. The slight friction verifying that even at his age his physical form still had some merit in a vitality that suggested a decade or two less than the unspoken fact of so many years spent. Some fictional lover’s hand might not find too much to be disappointment about in searching for the assurance of mutual human emotional comfort. Padding betwixt barely seeable corridors made by unlit furniture draped by pitched shadow he tiptoed towards the lounge window. The tall residential building two blocks across appeared to have lights lit in two of its apartments. Restless companions summoned equally to a disconnected seance circle of temporal insomnia. The open lid of the porcelain bowl far off behind him at the other end of the short maze that he had just negotiated waited for its night bound contribution. The annoying pressure within seemed desirous to please and he guided himself back once again by the habit of memory.
He returned to the window squinting through a small pair of binoculars that he had once bought half way around the world when he had found himself on his birthday going to a stadium for a rock concert. In a cheering crowd of fifty thousand too high up in the bleachers of that massive space to be truly effective to really see more than what the looming field monitors chose to reveal, his recent acquisition seemed useless. Now in both hands slowly focusing it as he sorted out the fuzziness of his own vision with the small dial of this same instrument they revealed that the lit windows were no more than reflections from signs farther down left lit upon the street. No one was awake. At least not from the windows that he had spied. He ran the binoculars scan carefully across the pasteboard of the far off building’s side. A nightlight or two. No way to imagine any kindred drama awake like his own. Could he only simply recollect the point when he had wandered out of his own dimly lit forest so that he might seek a return to where his own participation in the enigmatic drama had left off? The gulf between made so unstable by the slow reawakening of his mortal senses. The same question looming as to what was it that he was hoping to discover and reconcile within the hodgepodge of an endless cityscape? One that when he awoke in similar circumstances he felt he was somehow a resident of? The tiny voice bounced its fading echo again about his empty skull.
Funny that a human voice long abandoned by its earthly persona could restore itself unexpectedly to mind? Its passion for living so energetically expressed in the power of the register of higher notes powerfully voiced yet now assuredly silent. What a lonely life so many that allowed their voices to carry them to fame must have had he thought? How sad it seemed when they either lost the ability to match their own recorded hits? Success from former eras seemed to be their own banshees that haunted them to the grave. God’s gift. Now of course like those of the ‘so many’ anonymous empty faces in the crowded audience surrounding he felt touched by the presence of her longing’s. That same strong throat coursing its wail amidst the serpentine of cold funeral marble of his own stone forest within. How strange it seemed to him. Like one camping alone beside the massive but extinct cone of a wasted volcano. A mournful recycling cry that bounces and fading and slowly dying into an infinity of trees still standing not yet not blown down by that ancient force. He picked up the binoculars and looked again at the few dimly lit bedroom windows for a sign of life. A stranger’s presence that might vindicate a mutual sharing of two unknowing souls caught lost in mortal consciousness of persistent waking. The instant of his elusive dream flashed across his unseeing silent eyes once again.