"Those eyes will be the death of me.." thinks the alchemist, staring
intently at the tiny photograph cupped carefully in the palm of his
hand. He holds the picture close, protected from the rain that falls
perpetually in his town, soaking his clothes and dripping from the brim
of his hat. Through this tiny doorway he feels himself fall through a
hole in the fabric of life to a place that existed long ago if at all.
A time when, for one moment, the raindrops stopped and a ray of pure
sunlight broke through the grey belly of the clouds and lit the world
in technicolor fire. Across the table he studies her. Frozen forever in
mid sip . On the surface, the mask.. cool and controlled, gives away
nothing. The eyes say it better though. Glancing up, blue windows open
upon a gentle, timid soul.. "It's me ! look at me!" it sings.. "Tell me
who I am.. Tell me of the magic you see, because without you, I fear
the mirror is empty.." Returning now to the day to day world he gently
folds the worn picture and returns it to the safety of pocket next to
In the distance fingers of lightning dance along the skyline. He counts
the seconds to the crack.. "A storm is coming" he thinks to himself.
But even as this thought is formed, a single ray of sunshine , breaking
through, pierces the dark... An omen.
The man known as Carlos the Jackal has filed a legal
complaint in Paris of kidnapping and illegal restraint against the man
who arrested him.
I say he better mind his manners or the French will confiscate his ascot, shave that little pencil mustache, and he won't look like a cheap gigolo anymore. It's probably the only thing that makes life in prison meaningful.