Along the hem of his cape the dust flew and dispersed. The floorboards cracked , separating and combusting beneath his feet. His fingertips brushed the tops of a table as he passed by it. The food on the plates spread away from the plates, the glasses spilled. He looked ordinary, but the man was a monster. Everyone had heard of his coming. It was inevitable, but I had not believed it until I saw him heading straight for me. Chaos was a man with dark hair, wild hazel eyes, a determined jaw, and a thin line of a mouth. He wore black from head to toe: a top hat, his shirt, his long cape, the clasp at the base of his throat, his breeches, gloves, and a pair of newly shined shoes. For the embodiment of Chaos, this man looked orderly and refined. I pushed away from the bar as he approached. He smiled the smile of a crazy person and cornered me. On closer examination, the man who appeared orderly was actually disheveled. His beard was not shave and left scruffy. His hair was actually a tousled mess of curls. “Good evening,” he said to me, politely. “What do you want from me?” Chaos laughed. “Who says I want anything from you?” “Why else would you corner me like this?” “Intuitive, you have always been, Order.” “And you have always been rude, Chaos.” I pushed my hand out toward the table that he had messed up. The food went back to its place on the plates, the glasses tipped back up with the liquid inside. The floorboards scurried back together into smooth order. “I’m going to enjoy this,” said my nemesis. He thrust his arms out. Screams went up from the people around us as they hid from the fight. Glass broke, shattered, the piano in the hall fell apart and crumbled, chairs fell into disarray and tables flew around the room, blocking pathways. Who would win? Chaos or Order? Even I did not know.
Along the hem of his cape the dust flew and dispersed. The floorboards cracked , separating and combusting beneath his feet. His fingertips brushed the tops of a table as he passed by it. The food on the plates spread away from the plates, the glasses spilled.
ReplyDeleteHe looked ordinary, but the man was a monster. Everyone had heard of his coming. It was inevitable, but I had not believed it until I saw him heading straight for me.
Chaos was a man with dark hair, wild hazel eyes, a determined jaw, and a thin line of a mouth. He wore black from head to toe: a top hat, his shirt, his long cape, the clasp at the base of his throat, his breeches, gloves, and a pair of newly shined shoes. For the embodiment of Chaos, this man looked orderly and refined.
I pushed away from the bar as he approached. He smiled the smile of a crazy person and cornered me. On closer examination, the man who appeared orderly was actually disheveled. His beard was not shave and left scruffy. His hair was actually a tousled mess of curls.
“Good evening,” he said to me, politely.
“What do you want from me?”
Chaos laughed. “Who says I want anything from you?”
“Why else would you corner me like this?”
“Intuitive, you have always been, Order.”
“And you have always been rude, Chaos.” I pushed my hand out toward the table that he had messed up. The food went back to its place on the plates, the glasses tipped back up with the liquid inside. The floorboards scurried back together into smooth order.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” said my nemesis.
He thrust his arms out. Screams went up from the people around us as they hid from the fight. Glass broke, shattered, the piano in the hall fell apart and crumbled, chairs fell into disarray and tables flew around the room, blocking pathways.
Who would win? Chaos or Order?
Even I did not know.