Bad Omen

I woke up once again from a bad dream. I'm here anxious, worried about whether I'm the driver or if fate is as inevitable as a moving train. Again I wake up with a blink before the abyss, with the fate I feared most embracing me and me having to accept it as if it were to my liking.

Today is March 13, 2026, a month after my birthday. I wake up seeing an image I didn't want to see. I don't even want to check to see if it's real; last time it was too late, last time the nightmare hit me without saying goodbye or apologies.

Here I am again, fighting, and facing the enemy once more, I show weakness. What to do if he is omnipresent? What to do if he dictates all the rules that define the world? What to do if he acts like God?

Time is cruel, insatiable, impossible to defeat unless you are the chosen one. My angel is not Michael, not Nicholas, much less Gabriel; it's a lost cause.

I'm increasingly flirting with the idea of taking a long trip, the kind that's one-way, the kind where people cry with grief at parting. To escape the weight that reality imposes and travel forever in search of healing the pain.

I think that maybe in another reality everything would have turned out right, I would have won. But here I find myself in a scene of utter devastation, empty shelves facing the devastating crisis. How can I not look in the shop window and imagine myself? But I don't know, this is a garment that doesn't fit me, a song whose tone doesn't match, a shoe that is too tight on my foot.

All that's left for me is to wait for the trumpets that will announce my end. Without the glamour the shop window displayed, without the honor the dream took away; without anything, just the lights going out on any given Monday or Sunday.