Sands

Half an hour past 12, and half an hour into the new day.

"Hello, 26", he thinks, as the warm glow from the phone call subsides (physically as well, since his ear got warm after the first 10 minutes). There are messages waiting on the mobile, and he checks and answers them methodically. A trace of a smile plays on his lips. It feels good.

There is much to be grateful for.

And yet there is still much work to do. The job, the family, the friends, the life. 6 years since he was twenty, four years since he graduated, one and a half years since-

but there are no regrets. Older, and hopefully wiser he looks out the window at the sleeping houses. Far off in the distance, half obscured by that strange smog that makes everything so bloody hot there are the twinkling lights of the bigger city. And yet still far away, in a place he knows not where, lies his future. And as has been the way for as long as he can remember, the future is rushing to meet him, with the weight of a million million lifetimes.

Some say the best way to come on top when you're fighting the future is to wrestle it and tie it down like a stubborn mule. He wasn't sure how true it was, but he knew one thing:

It'd better be ready for him when it arrived.