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He noticed now that this film of his life went not only in chronological order but also at some sort of relative chronological pace. Years where memories were sparse went almost in slow motion, whereas key years, such as the one where he changed jobs, became a father, moved house, lost his father and discovered his mother's early onset Alzheimer's, rattled by like an old Keystone Cops chase. He was almost up to date now, and still could not understand where death would come from. One thing he noticed now, something he never had before, was the occurrence in almost every memory of a man wearing black. Was that some bizarre quirk of dying, he wondered? The man in black. Death? He looked at the clock again, and watched it change to 03:13. Only a
few seconds left, he thought to himself, as his replaying life saw him
at the crematorium, saying farewell to his wife earlier in the year. He
saw himself reading in bed, the very book that was by the bed now, lying
half-read on the bedside cabinet. Too bad he'd never finish it. Ironically,
it was a biography of London, his favourite city and where he had lived
for most of his life. London of course would go on, would need an updated
biography in a few hundred Time stopped. Albert could not move. He saw a dark smoke-like shadow by the open window, which coalesced into the shape of a tall man, wearing dark clothes. A vampire, Albert thought. The man in black! The vampire crossed the room and stared into Albert's eyes. Albert was startled to see beads of sweat on the vampire's face, as though from great exertion. He noticed that the clock still said 03:13 as he reached for his wife's cross, the one he kept for sentimental reasons by the bedside. He held it out between him and the monster that stood before him. The vampire smiled at him, almost sadly, Albert thought, and shook his head. |
years. Albert, on the other hand,
would have to make do with the images that had flown across his eyes:
An autobiography with a readership of one.|
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