All around him, the people seemed to understand, to know where they were headed and, to have at least an inkling of where they had come from. For all he tried, there were no memories, just the one vague recollection of a smile. Although he dwelt alone, he never could ignore that strange other world beyond the front door, but when had this begun, how long had life been so contained?

If this was all ... this can't be all ... there must be more.

His thoughts raced; what was the more to which he felt entitled and, would that more be such as one would normally want to remember? He roamed the carpeted cage, afraid to sit down, even afraid to prepare himself for sleep. "What if ..?", he muttered to himself, "what if this really is a dream".

He watched the moon, tonight it seemed to skip amongst the clouds; now that's reality he thought. This time his thought had an air of assurance. "It will come back", he told himself, "it will return!". At that, he felt he could relax; sit down, stretch out his legs, allow himself repose.

He was at home, he was alone.

Penultimate Beginning

Though solitude had never proved itself a fine companion, a certain stubborness prevented him from yielding to any alternative liaison! A certain stubborness of spirit was his inheritance, an heirloom for which he never had been able to find any takers.

His thoughts roamed the horizon of his apartment, the world outside could only promise turbulence. What did it mean; that smile, the young girls smile, whatever could it mean. He'd never found it difficult before, to refrain from any response, but this time he knew it was different. Perhaps she had seen through his steely gaze, seen to the broken core of his humanity.

Time to decide. To venture out or to remain; forever locked into a past he never knew, he wondered if the future would also remain unknown.

In The Beginning - an episodic fiction

"Always", he said, "it always ends like this". And this time he was right; the night sky lit by distant lights, the rain that washed away his dreams of solitude, no way could this continue.

But could this really be the end, the whimper hanging in exclamatory fashion but lacking the full stop.The world had changed around him, he alone remained oblivious to the flux.

Was it just yesterday the young girl smiled at him? Did she in fact smile?

The old uncertainties returned; "it is finished", he sighed, "the golden dream has gone", but had it ever been much more than an illusion?

He thought again, broke down before the memory bank of smiles, "it always ends like this" he sighed, "it always ends!"

A cloud passed by, he felt its shadow choking against the moon.