Epilogue - Part IX: Souris de Sang
November 11, 2007
You're walking across the parking lot near a Columbia biology lab, and for reasons you can't quite pin down, you stop to look at the rainbows in a gasoline puddle for a good five minutes. Maybe it's some symptom of childhood nostalgia. Maybe you've had a boring night. Maybe there was something significant about this particular puddle that some strange and coincidentalist force in the universe needed you to look at it.
In any case, you find yourself playing games with the whorls of color, watching them slowly shift under the wavering glow of the single street light as it emits it's irritating buzz. You decide to see if you can make out shapes in it, much like a young girl does when cloud watching.
You think you can see a woman to one side and a man off to the other, swirling toward each other. Some remnant thought born of your adolescent brain imagines that they are about to spiral together in some form of smeary gasoline-person copulation, and as the shape drift closer, your perception of their genders slowly disintegrates, until they are nothing but a nebulous spherical lump, half resembling a sun or an ovum.
In this circle, you think for a moment that you can see a face, maybe a skull reflected off the angles of the black asphalt below, and from that you watch the blob taper outward, melting into nothing.
You reverie is interrupted suddenly when a dirty and torn artificial flower is blown across the pool you are observing, sending ripples through it that smudge out the figures your mind created entirely.