Ficlets

“This is the new reality,” he said to no one in particular.

“History will not judge you kindly,” I said.

He paused, only to dismissively huff and turn to face the window. This new reality still had light and dark though there were shifting shadows.

“Am I a pontiff if I don’t pontificate?” he asked. Again, it was as if wasn’t there, chastising him towards some semblance of morality.

The pregnant pause gave birth to laughter, first from him and then from me. Our voices echoing to a roar until the room’s exotic tapestries swallowed them, made them alien and inhuman.

I fumbled through the folio looking for an exit. I found myself at the barrel of a gun, not in a clause or attachment as I had been expecting.

“This is the new reality,” he said to me, distinctively, enunciating each syllable as though he were speaking some foreign language. Or speaking mine perhaps for the first time.

I felt myself slip uneasily into blankness, an unseen assailant blunting me towards the nightmare.

“Sweet dreams!” he hissed.