Dust in the Wind
by Alexandra Cenni
It called to me, in a language few outside of my kind understood. 'A sip. A small sip. Drink the pain away.' it whispered darkly, invoking memories I had thought long buried. Reminding me of a youth I half-forgot.
It would be simple to take the sparkling wine glass in my hand, holding it carefully as I slowly swirled the liquid. Breathing deeply the beautiful fragrance unique to the red liquid.
Should I? Truly would anyone care? I thought at one time it mattered to the world if I acted the martyr, if I sacrificed in order to provide a better example. I would blame arrogance or conceit for my beliefs, but those are excuses. I wanted to believe that it mattered because then I would be special.
By saying ‘No, I will not indulge’ whenever my comrades tempted me, I was different, set apart from them as they discussed my actions and tried to decipher the meaning endlessly, trying to figure out what I was trying to accomplish. That was so long ago though.
I’m so tired. Old and worn out from years of living on lesser things, ignoring the gnawing in my gut. More and more often I find myself remembering the thrill, the adrenaline I felt when I was younger and didn’t deny myself. I took that feeling for granted I think.
A sip. Yes a small sip. No one will know or care. I’m just dust in the wind to them after all.