The sun slowly crept upwards across the Manhattan skyline, bathing the sky in nearly every shade of pink, orange, and various shades of gold. Draining the contents of the thick, crystal glass I held in my hand, I thought to myself, even after all these years, I still find myself lost in the beauty of a sunrise.
There was something about the birth of a new day that always seemed to capture my attention. No matter how much time I spent standing in from of this window, watching the busy streets below, or immersing myself in the night life of the big city, I always seemed to find myself watching the sun rise.
In the other room the shower turned on as my roommate, Matt, began his morning routine. As childish as he could act, he was quite organized, and seemed to have mostly everything planned out. And I had unknowingly fitted myself into that schedule, at least for some parts.
Placing the weighty glass onto of the liquor cabinet, I crossed the large, open room, into the kitchen to start the coffee maker. Spooning the coffee grounds into the top part, and filling the machine with water, I was just waiting for the day when the surprisingly efficient machine would break, and we'd be stuck making coffee on the stove. Not that anyone knows how to do that nowadays, they'd probably just go to Starbucks or something instead.
Before heading back into the other room, I reached into the frosted glass cabinet and pulled down a dark blue mug, and set it on the green marble counter.
Pausing next to the cabinet, I filled the glass a quarter of the way with the contents of a random bottle, then returned to my glass wall.
Businessmen in fancy suits carrying equally fancy briefcases, hailed bright yellow cabs from sidewalks and curbs, while third-shift walker shuffled along the side walk in a stupor, eagerly anticipated a day of sleep. Directly across the street my lavender-haired friend, Ellis, locked up her bar. Knowing I would be watching, she waved up towards me, with a half-hearted sleepy smile, before retreating down the street to her apartment.
With her bar not doing as well as it had been, I had offered her to come stay with me, since I had tons of free space, and she wouldn't have to pay as much rent, but she was stubborn, and a bit proud, so she refused. Knowing her, she'd eventually accept, if I waited a couple months before bringing it up again.
The water turned off in the other room, and Matt emerged shortly after towel frying his chocolate brown hair. He eyed my glass and asked, "It's a little early for day drinking don't 'cha think?"
Shrugging slightly, I replied, "It's four somewhere." The freezer opened and Matt retrieved the overly processed jelly and 'bread' that he called breakfast. Then he asked, "Do you want a toaster strudel?"
"Do I want a freeze dried turnover?"
He sighed loudly, and the freezer door closed back. The toaster handle chinked into place as he retreated back into his room, purposely draping his damp towel over the back of the white couch to irritate me.
Glancing over at the out of place towel, I sipped my drink, not wanting to give in to the urge to move it. Instead, I tried to think of more questions to ask Matt. It seemed like the older I got the more unasked questions I came up with.
The toaster popped up as Matt came back in, adjusting his permanently crooked tie. I crossed into the kitchen once again, as he smeared frosting onto the nearly burnt rectangle with his finger.
After doing that he got himself some coffee, and took down another mug, doing the same for me. Sitting down to his 'breakfast' he slid the extra mug over to me saying, "This is what normal people drink in the morning."
Pouring the rest of my drink into the coffee, I ignored Matt's slightly irritated glance, "Is Russian Roulette homicide or suicide?"
Staring at me, with the toaster pastry hallway to his mouth, the blankest most un-amused look came to his face as he replied, "Not this again."
Keeping my voice flat and somewhat robotic I countered "that is not a valid answer, please try again."
He banged his head loudly on the table, and his now muffled voice replied, "I don't know, it depends, I guess."
"The circumstances. If you handed a loaded gun to someone you want dead then it's homicide. If you and a bunch of friends are in some suicide club, then then it's suicide."
"Good to know."
Matt picked his head up off the table, "the only reason I'm not pursuing the subject is because I know you don't have a gun. If you do, I don't want to know about it."
"Why is Satanism bad? I mean we're in America the land of freedom," I added, then returned my voice to its normal, non-high pitched tone, "so why is it bad to worship Satan?"
"I don't know or care, I'm a proud atheist. It's probably because even if you aren't religious you hear about Satan being bad so people tend to place him in a negative light."
Not having anything to contribute I moved on, "Why is suicide bad?"
Matt paused for a long time, before replying with the polite answer that was the opinion everyone would give when confronted with this question in public, "life is precious and just shouldn't be tossed away."
"So I'm horribly depressed, my family is all dead, I have no friends, can't afford medical treatment, am a good million dollars in debt and addicted to…cocaine. I have no job, can't get welfare and am squatting in the most run down ghetto parts of the city. I decided I'm better off dead, you're saying I shouldn't kill myself?"
"Ooo how 'bout this. I'm a young teenager, my parents have disowned me, and I have no friends, and have been forced into therapy for exhibiting 'morbid and harmful' tendencies. The only thing my parents will do is pay for me to 'talk' with someone who doesn't give a damn about you or your problems, just your money, and is embedding into your subconscious to solve your problems with pills.
You suffer through the happy pills for a couple years and the day you turns eighteen you get kicked out of the house, somehow people have gotten my phone number and are harassing me constantly. You are telling me that I should continue with my great life because 'life is precious'."
Matt didn't say anything for a long time, while I tipped the chair back and sipped my drink. "Why are you so morbid today, I feel like sitting in the corner and crying now, it's too early for this and I have to go to work."
"Death and time are two concepts I am absolutely fascinated with," plus as I see it I won't be dying anytime soon, so why not fantasize about other people's death?
Matt sighed, the chair scraping against the black tiled floor, "I'm leaving before you can ask anything else."
I waved and flashed him a smug little smile while sipping my coffee and watched him leave. Going back into the living room, I eyed the black towel that sat on the white couch like an ink stain, the proceeded to pick it up and go into the bathroom, just to throw it on the floor. Matt didn't like the bathroom being out of order, so for good measure I placed the bottle of hand soap in the sink, along with the bar of soap, and left door to the shower half open.
Leaving my empty mug on the sink for good measure, I turned and headed back into the living room, already distracted by my thoughts.
Time, was just really something I couldn't fathom. People were always saying things like 'since the beginning of time' and 'until the end of time' but who can really say what time is. How do we really know it started or if it will end; what if it's just there? I mean what would happen if time was to just end? Would we all be stuck in this state of suspended animation until it started again or would everything just explode or something? How could time end?"
Sure death could be considered the end, but how could we know? What if there was some fact behind all that religious babble and reincarnation was real? I bet a lot of people would clean up their act if they knew they really could 'burn in hell'. Who was to say they were wrong? Nobody has ever died and come back to life a day later, so there's no way to tell what comes after. Sure rationality and majority of society wants us to believe that there's nothing, but what if there was an afterlife.
I personally wouldn't change anything; I'm happily indifferent to a lot of things, so I'd probably be stuck in purgatory. There's nothing bad with waiting for something that's never going to come, I'd just wind up spending the afterlife bored out of my mind. It would also be a good chance to observe 'hope'.
Then there was the question of how reincarnation would work. I mean who would get a seconds chance? The people who just lived? Or the ones who really messed up? What about the 'pure' ones who did nothing but good?
The thought trailed off as I found myself staring up at the ceiling, for what seemed like hours. Eventually pulling out my phone, I added to the list of questions and notes. Mental stability (?), religious views, Russian roulette, death and time. What would someone do with immortality?
I paused staring at the last question, thinking back, I couldn't really think of anything productive or significant I have done. What was even the point of me becoming immortal?
Since the roaring twenties ended, I haven't done much but watch people live their lives. Then again, it would be a bit difficult to do something significant, because it would take years and years to get anything done. People were bound to notice eventually that I wasn't changing. Sure with all the technology nowadays I could avoid meeting people face to face for a while, but that was only a temporary solution. Why does everything have to be so complicated, does it come with advancing technology or thinking too much?
With a sigh, I stood, returning to my perch to watch the now crowded streets below. Maybe all I'm good for is pondering the impossible…