*Excerpt from part one of a series of short stories, with the working title,
He sat stale and hard; his gaze transfixed on the empty white wall. His last movie screen. His projector ceased to turn – it’s parts run dry and stiff. No longer was there a shining light beaming from his lens eyes, projecting images before him.
The machine was cold and without content.
It was a peaceful enough departure. He’d been in a fantasy, a waking dream, and suddenly he just knew. The moment was upon him. Hazy, almost, and calm. He felt no panic, no fear – possibly because he had not the energy to spend on such a performance, even if he chose to. Visions coursed through him, travelling beyond form, beyond reason – searching.
The cycle brought itself around full. His body slowly washed into cold numbness, and in a gradually fading light, his thoughts dimmed and all went white.