Dear Zakhar pt. 3

The sphinx appears cold in the dead of night, with its fangs now laid bare, like so many others before it, playing a game of charade. The sphinx is now capable of pouncing, and there I was within its proximity, caught in the ultraviolence. I stood there taking it all in. I stood until I no longer could. I stood, and I sat, and I fell, until I feel my eyes closing permanently shut. I may never open my eyes ever again.

You were there with the sphinx, and you smiled the widest smile. If I could only muster a reaction, an impulse, a twitch, anything, something.

The sphinx is a playful thing. Beautiful, smart, deadly to the touch. It considers no man its friend.

The sphinx supposedly possesses the answer. Or so the riddle goes.

I open my eyes, sat on this bed, at the evening twilight, and the sphinx is gone. Like so many others before it. In front of me I see the bloodied body of a man on the floor in the shape of my face. I should have been terrified, but instead I felt envy in my veins, which made no absolute sense. I close my eyes again.

Beautiful. Sharp. The feeling of resentment and fear. The sphinx is feeding me its lifeline, I realise it now. The sphinx is the riddle, not the riddler. I wanted this. I needed this. The gap is closing, but I can still feel it farther than it has ever been. Perhaps if I could better acclimate to this then it could make this discomfort a little less distracting. 

I open my eyes again, and everything is gone, or will be.