Some Day Soon

When was the last time I felt at home on this earth? I like to think this is a fleeting thought, but it recurs more often than my landlords emails demanding some extortionate amount of money. Even back then, all those years, I was never truthfully at ease among the people, never honestly wanted to be there. I could never stand still so maybe this was always supposed to be my path. It feels like only yesterday the horses and their carriages were becoming cars in there garages. Now the cars are in the skies and the horses are nowhere to be found. Who was I before this all happened? Who am I now?

I shuffle on the spot, a nervous tension washes over my body. Its warm. A nice little reminder that I do in fact still feel things. The room I am in is all walls, white walls and white floor and white ceiling. Theyve tried to make it look professional, of course. Except we all know this is a rogue company out to make profits from lonely souls trying to escape their miserable lives. What does that make me? I suppose that does describe me. Perfectly in fact. But I like to think I'm a special case. Who doesn't? Some day I'll believe it. Maybe.

Well there's no point beating around the bush like a senile dog trying to find the prime spot to fizzle out the last dregs of my dignity. I take a step forward towards the object in the centre of the room. I pause. Was this really my only option? I mean I'm not exactly ancient, not yet. I could live an adequate life in this time. This era. Its not all that bad. But even as the thought crosses my mind its ambushed with an array of depressing reminders that forever circle my life like vultures over a carcass.

This filth in the air has always been here, even when it wasn't physical pollution. It was there thick as sludge and tart to the touch, our senses drowned by our own selfishness and self-righteousness. Ambition gave way to greed and greed paved the path of our demise. I was running back then, and I'm running right now. I think we all are in our own ways. Some run towards their destiny, I just happen to be running from mine. I stroke the edge of the metal device that stands before me, its cold and unforgiving, not an unusual sensation I've experienced, actually strangely satisfying. I think I must feel the same to it.

I wonder what this machine will lead me too. Peace? I hope so, but hope is a fickle mistress you cheat on reality with, that promises too much and only ever ruins your relationship. Happiness? If I couldn't find happiness before what makes another two hundred years so special. Purpose? Perhaps purpose is the answer to the greatest question. Purpose would bring peace and happiness. If this long sleep can bring me purpose then everything that's come before was not for naught.

 'The Future Is Yours' they repeat in their audacious adverts forced into our lives through the screens we all hold in front of our faces day in day out. Still in beta stages, the device is a chance for loners and losers like myself to chase away their fates whilst the company can perfect their technology. 'The Future Is Yours' As if anybody other than me actually wants to see what mayhem lies two hundred years down the road for our species. I think in the back of my mind I'm hoping I will never wake, and the negligence of the human race will do the deed I could never bring myself to do. 

I miss you. My glimmer. My shining spark that kept the blaze alight in my heart. Its not fair what happened. As if existence cares about our morales. Perhaps I'll see you in the future, perhaps there will be a way to visit you or bring you to me. I'd like that. Though for now I will just venture further into the unknown, further from your existence. Further from myself and with any luck in turn find a part of myself I have never felt I possessed.

Why did I not come home that day? We were so sure that voyage was a bust, it had failed. We had every opportunity to turn around and yet we didnt, I didnt. I murdered everyone on that boat with my reckless abandon, and have now been resurrected from the ice in this foreign time to pay for those sins.

Well so be it. 

My fingers run along the edge of the metal door frame to this fascinating device, it looks more like a submarine capsule, maybe it is and they'll just drop me in the ocean to be forgotten. If only. I don't really mean that, "I'm actually not this cynical" I say to myself in the reflection of the glass window but laugh before I can finish the sentence. 'I wonder how it works'. I barely entertain the notion of trying to comprehend it and slide into its claustrophobic enclosure. The door slams shut and my mind whirs, or perhaps its the machine. My heart picks up pace which is surprising for the old dog, its still got some kick left in it. Within in seconds my breath is in my throat battling for space with my heart and the whirring is now definitely predominantly my mind rushing. The capsule rattles. A bolt falls from the roof. What the hell have these cowboys made this thing out of? No time to doubt my decisions now. I've only got the future to behold and I will never back down from an adventure. I suppose that was the problem before I guess, except this time I won't be defeated by my own self deprecation.

I will pay ten fold for the sins of my former self. 

I will discover who I really am.

I will be at peace.

Some day.

Some day soon.