Blackstar: Part I

Tepid drops drip from a grey sky, plopping politely onto the worn concrete slabs of the sidewalk. As they settle and collect into damp stains, the hum of neon signs compete with the maelstrom that is this metropolis.

My toes are sore from slapping the pavement for so long, but another several hours lie ahead. As of this moment, my tie knot creeps under my adam's apple, giving every unconscious swallow of saliva feel as though my noose tightens evermore.

My briefcase is filled with nothing. Nothing that if not returned by the appointed time will surely release me from this quotidian; A blessing or curse, I'm not so sure.

Upon reaching an intersection, I yield to the cross traffic that sits as far as it can from here to there but does not seem to move. The moisture in the air above collected itself enough to precipitate onto the back of my hand. I looked down to see a peculiar shape that it has morphed into upon contacting the skin that still remains there. In the second that it might have taken to peer down upon my own flesh, people began to push ahead of me since I did not immediately begin to move as the light changed into our favor. I continued on my route along with them, trundling as cows do in a herd.

In the darkness of the entryway to the shop, I reached for the keys in my pocket, only to find that a stabbing pain has found purchase on my hand. I retracted it in a primal fashion from my garment pocket to see what damage had been done. No blood, no skin missing. The only thing that was there was a tiny black star. It almost resembled a tattoo in its nature, but I have never had an urge to mark my flesh with a reciprocating needle doused in ink. Yet this black star has appeared.