Wednesday Morning, 3am.
Nov. 28th, 2006 02:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
twiststhebladeTime passes. We know this for a fact.
The world spins on it's axis, as it revolves about the sun, as the galaxy spirals, as the universe expands.
Entropy continues it's gradual and inescapable progress towards final and total energy death, stars die, galaxies are born.
Somewhere, lost in it all, individual and insignificant human lives burn out their brief, bright flares, and are extinguished. One single human life. Utterly without moment, in the grand scheme of the cosmos, and yet, still time passes for that single spark just as truthfully as for the whole, magnificent universe.
***
One year later. Even in the small hours of the morning, the streets of Sin City are never silent. There is always someone with a thirst to quench, a hunger to feed, an addiction to satisfy. There is always the steady flow and pulse of trade, the unmistakable sound of old, greasy money passing from client to service provider. There is always danger, there are always those who seek to take rather than buy. There is always opportunity.
There is always Miho.
She keeps vigil, above the narrow back alleys, as she always does. Perhaps she won't be needed tonight, perhaps she will. She is always there. She is always alert, she is always ready. She is always deadly.
The world spins on it's axis, as it revolves about the sun, as the galaxy spirals, as the universe expands.
Entropy continues it's gradual and inescapable progress towards final and total energy death, stars die, galaxies are born.
Somewhere, lost in it all, individual and insignificant human lives burn out their brief, bright flares, and are extinguished. One single human life. Utterly without moment, in the grand scheme of the cosmos, and yet, still time passes for that single spark just as truthfully as for the whole, magnificent universe.
***
One year later. Even in the small hours of the morning, the streets of Sin City are never silent. There is always someone with a thirst to quench, a hunger to feed, an addiction to satisfy. There is always the steady flow and pulse of trade, the unmistakable sound of old, greasy money passing from client to service provider. There is always danger, there are always those who seek to take rather than buy. There is always opportunity.
There is always Miho.
She keeps vigil, above the narrow back alleys, as she always does. Perhaps she won't be needed tonight, perhaps she will. She is always there. She is always alert, she is always ready. She is always deadly.
