The reality of the world was ephemeral. And people were still bleeding over land, like it was more than just a place to live, bleeding over oil, like it was more than just an energy source, bleeding over small thinly sliced trees, like they were more than just paper. Was he the only one who could hear it? Everyone was bleeding. A small incision placed inside of them, from which a drip escaped every year, widening the gap in the dyke, letting more drips slip through. The red liquid was pouring out slowly from each. All bled equally, regardless. Could they not hear their bodies calling them to their end? Were they not aware of this beating, of living to escape it? Well, they had their primitive soma, their so-called “religion” to tell them they would live forever. True, his lifestyle was one few could sustain. He understood why. His own mind tried to reject his body’s urgent messages. This is more than just ephemeral it said.
He repeated that to himself over and over again, biting his lips in frustration, alternating each one til they were equally chewed. And still when she appeared he kissed her, and when she whispered in his ear, telling of the future he smiled. His mind liked what she said. When they were together, he could ignore the ephemeral. He felt ethereal with her. Looking at the card, his eyes blurred again. The tearing of the anchor shook his whole frame, as a light wind blew him right out of town. He was ethereal, ephemeral. Eternal.