The Shattered Glass of Dreams

In this kaleidoscopic nightmare of a story, a broken man at the end looks for any sign of goodness or meaning in his life.


Angel Benavides

As the drugs hit, Jack remembered he had always liked funerals in February–they seemed fun for no reason at all.
But now, this November seemed so illustrious, like any other minute in a century. The late nights had become longer and wilder than the ecstasy on dreams. In the shadow of the world, where the souls become soulless and the soulless become monsters and where monsters become human shells.
The needle bled a clear liquid in the back alley, the arm screaming in vain as the silver of the bladed needle pierced through the bandage. There he laid on the barren floor. This would be one last relapse before his departure.
The vision had become so clear in the light of the black moon. In the back alleys of the 3 am world, where souls are inexistent in the hierarchy of dwellers. In some obscure fashion the city seemed to eat its population, a character of the unknown, a single piece of nobody is refraining in the ashed filled soil of remembrance in an era of simpler times.
Jack was a good kid, although a severe fuck up. He had witnessed the edge of the world firsthand, meeting with the hierarchy of the universe at times, usually falling into the abyss of the realm of the abstract. There are things in one’s life that drive people insane, in this instance, too much insanity for a poor soul.
This November was not kind. Chicago was having one of the worst winters in decades. The alleyway between Randolph street and green street always seemed like a pleasant drive for the city people. However in Jacks little corner of nowhere he was a desolate soul. Captured in a game of life where he was losing. Although the shops around him were still open and full of life, he seemed to already be a ghost. An apparent piece of nothingness, forgotten from the face of the earth. 

The church bells rang from afar. Almost like a condemnation of souls ready to prey on his. Deep in the abyss of death he had seen the past. His imperfect life reflected on the eyes of the beggar of life, who was wounded by the shattered window of thoughts and the broken glass of dreams, radiating everso sharp beside the needle of alluded happiness.

Only if he realized it was all an illusion.
“Jamie.” Said Jack with an non-existent life force, with the tear of regret running down his solid face; he laid in memories. The one thing that he did have left, if anything. 

He saw Jamie running in Everstone park,  radiating happiness like a beam of light from a lonely coast. After Jack’s wife had abandoned him. The one thing that stood out in the desolation of the world was Jamie. As he laid in the layers of memories with the archangel of death looming everso closely, he prayed that his soul would finally meet his dead son once again, if only for a couple minutes.

He was wrong.

 Snow pierced him through the protection of dreams. Coming like an onslaught of everything bad in the world. Strangers seemed stranger as they walked by the unnoticed of a war raging for centuries, a war of the mind. A mind that led to the insane side of the abstract realm. Jack’s peacefulness was abruptly interrupted by the demons trying to take his soul to prey upon. The demons were only mirror entities of what he had become, of what he had done. He had only done this to himself, blaming himself for the death of Jaime, if only he would have seen him run across the street then he could have prevented the accident.

Tears of regret struck him like the blades of the executioner judging him in his condemnation. 

With his soul next to the broken window of  thoughts and  the shattered glass of dreams. Regret, now loomed over him.

It’s powerful splendor was what ended up killing his will. A will already shattered now turned to dust.

The cold solid face became soft, no longer tense, almost like a full release but not quite. Muscles were no longer contorting and fidgeting for air; they laid in a tranquil state of mind, no longer worried. Eyes never shut, they stared at the relentless cruelty of the world, like an omniscient character, never sharing opinion. 

The winter had caught him. Finally. After months of persecution, the examination was concluded. The war was over.

There was nothing left for him to do but lay there and watch. 

With four inches of snow covering the remaining bones. the soulless passed by unnoticed, unmoved by Jack. The alley had become his home and his mind had become his condemnation.