Others might question reality when catching glimpses of shadows out of the corner of their eyes; but not you. That being, those ageless angels looming throughout time and ether who exist to sip the sweet final essences of life away from lighted faces before opening eternities golden gates. Guardians and keepers of secrets, deniers and fortifiers of all that has gone down now, then and forever. Shadowy myths in vogueish corners of every conceivable space human life finds breath in. Capturing receptacles of the visages we called our lives; created from both the lived and yet unborn. Fortifying the circle of life here there and everywhere that can neither be broken denied or reinvented by the likes of those who think fate is not in the hands of flesh but in the eyes of the preplanner. If you listen closely you can hear their sighs and a-ha’s ever so slightly lamented amidst final shoo shoos of last breaths. Or maybe even see it for yourself in the crackling thundering bolting lighting emanating into a cloudless sky on a day not one drop of rain fell. Their work carried out thousands of times a day beneath the cover in every place imaginable; from beneath the ground in a coal mine cave to on the dashboard of a Lexus that did not see the stop sign. From the cubicle beside you that you nonchalantly just handed a piece of what you thought was important paper. Ageless angels are everywhere. Never judging. Never mitigating or holding back when called upon. Just waiting for that second when life is lost and eternity found. Split second handoffs from here to there. Only once witnessing it back again.  No one goes alone. No one suffers finality. Be still the final breath of our ageless angel.


A pondering philosopher might suppose that equal numbers of people prefer sunrises over sunsets and vice versa. In the ying yang circle of what truly balances the cosmos of humanity it is quite possible that this light and day preference of the two keeps the world in a tentative cosmic harmonious balance. Though lest we forget; many of our fellow souls whom we will call the independents on this journey of life do not care either way on the subject. Was it not Schopenhauer who marveled with envy the care-free woman hanging her laundry on a wash line without concern to the up and down thoughts of the world but that only her laundry got dry. Oh, the tormented philosopher laboring long into the night horrified at life’s perplexities. Oh, the tormented minds amongst us who lay sleepless concerned of pandemics, nuclear devastation and another four years of that. But alas most of the time we find life just a series of unconscious breathing, walking, waiting and moving from point A to point B moments. For sure we take less chances then we should and hold on to more things than we need to. We carry grudges, opinions and hurts way longer than we need. It is just as hard to let go as it is to hold on. Human minds are always working. A whole set of under pinning’s work unconsciously making sure the eyes are open and the blood is flowing.  We can still smell when sleeping and still listen and not hear a single word.  Sometimes we lock the door. Sometimes we leave it unlocked. Hiding is harder than meeting life head on. Once every now and then we avoid what might be coming through that door; hiding under the bed is never a good option.

It is raining in Philadelphia and the streets are shiny flashy red reflectors of disquieting chirping ambulances speeding in full emergency response amid canyons of solemn glass towers of stone tonight. Their flashing illuminations heralding one by one missions to gather the drug overdosed, gun-shot, beat-to-shit and heart-attacking populous. Destinations 911 whizzing past free ranging theater goers mulling underneath swirling lighted marquees. Three-hundred-dollar ticket holders oblivious to sidewalks hardened by the cities sitting, standing, leaning, un insured invisibles fielding carboard signs for food fare, loose change and just some acknowledgment. The guilty and the innocent all brothers in arms in a war without winners. All frozen in time until the front doors open and the stretchers unfold. All carrying bonified scripts of some kind or another for pains that never go away. All in line for drugs that kill more than they remedy. A final outcome long ago determined solely by what one can pay and the milligrams dispensed.  It is raining in Philadelphia and the streets are shiny and grey. A tenement window shade goes down shaky and slow as the rush of the fix slips away. Heroes and superman playing on a black and white television while little children dream in color of invisible Wakanda worlds so far away. There is no magical messiah to wash all the sorrow away.  A world ruled by profit and loss; where knocks at the door always mean someone is going away. It is raining in Philadelphia and a cold wind blows strong tonight spreading across the land in every direction. He walked on water but did not get wet. He fed all that hungered with what he had on hand. Talked truth to power and got what he did; hanging for eternity and he has not found his way down yet.


Geo 299's are works of fiction all in just 299 words. Most stories are stand alone, but sometimes three or four are linked together by a topic that has more story to tell. Feel free to comment and share with your friends. grantman
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