A snowflake landed on his nose. When that one melted into a fine drop, another took it's place. Several snowflakes later a drop fell off his nose onto his old leather jacket. It rolled down, fused with the ones already on it to lengthen it's journey, until it finally reached the bottom. From there it hung, like a chameleon ready to shoot it's tongue at any passing fly, nearly invisible, unnoticeable. But, unlike the chameleon, the little drop of water wasn't waiting for flies. It was simply holding on. Not for or because of anything or anyone. In some sense it didn't really matter, considering that, as soon as Marc moved, the drop, unable to hold on any longer, let go, and splattered all over his sneakers. One wouldn't notice such a needless event, but Marc did. Marc always noticed things that reminded him of himself.

    He soon began to move again. His coffee break has lasted him only a few minutes, and mobility was once again nessesary. Either that or frozen limbs. Marc was on patrol, as usual. His mind repeated the boss' words back at the station a few weeks ago. Due to the new regulations set by Avalon, all officers in the Police Department had to apply a specific amount of their newest face cream every day, and anyone who would disobey this new order would be fired immediately, with no warnings. They were friends, but the boss said he could hold them from finding out about it only a few weeks, and then there was nothing he could do. Marc hated Avalon. Not because it's products weren't effective, or because they owned the better half of the city, allowing them to impose their will upon it as they please. He hated Avalon because he hated the idea of a synthetic cream that supposedly removed all visible marks of ageing, wrinkles and all. He hated the idea that he was now forced by these same people to hide his actual self under an an aqueaous mask, simply because of their greed. Marc didn't think for one second that Avalon was actually trying to help the world by de-ageing it. To him it was just like the rest of the franchises he's lived through: in teh end it was all for the money.

     He didn't like to think about it much. It made him so sick, if he were to think too long about it, teh rage inside could cause him to do something he'd regret. He's payed for too many broken windows to forget that lesson. Instead he focused on his patrol, as well as the aftertaste of the piss they served him as coffee still present in his mouth. It was like fish, not coffee. 'These days all they care about is beauty. Food and the rest come later...' he thought to himself as he walked down his favorite road, Rue de Babylone. It was on his route, so he figured he'd pay an old friend a visit.

     The little cafe on this street was empty as usual. random sets of chairs and tables, next to a simple desk with a mini fridge and shelves of alcoholic beverages on the other side. Shanita was at the table, reading some fashion magazine and playing with her braids.
     "Salut, Shanita. Est-il, l'Oracle, ici?"
     "Oui."
     She gave him a look of empty appreciation, as if she was only smiling for him to be satisfied, not because she was happy to see him. He couldn't blame her, since every time he's been here he's never bought a drink or really talked to her. It stung him inside a little, but then wasn't the time to do anything about it. It would have to wait. That day he was going to the Oracle.

     He stepped through the beaded doorway into the smoke infested room he could recognise any time. Inside the fat man was seated. His waterpipe was fresh as always, and the familiar scent of papaya and pineapple was ever so present around him, like an aura of sorts. He used to have a name, but Marc simply knew him as the Oracle, a lone man with no attainable background, no family, nothing in possesion worth more than 30 Euros, and no motion. As far as Marc knew, that man has sat in that exact spot his entire life. Completely motionless apart from a few sluggish moves of the arm to move the mouthpeice of his waterpipe to and from his mouth, that was pretty much the extent of the Oracles existence. He apparently didn't eat, sleep, confront his sexual desires in any way, or do anything else for that matter. The Oracle's only significant motion was in his voice, when he spoke, for the Oracle could see things most never will. It wasn't always the future, it wasn't always the past, it didn't always make any kind of sense, but the fact remained that the Oracle could see these things. It didn't come as a blessing, because, as he puts it, in exchange for his gift he sacrificed his ability of memory. The better half of it, anyway. He could never remember his past, nor anything about himself or his family or loved ones. He couldn't remember lots more, but a few things did stick. For example, he can remember that he is the Oracle, that he can see things, that Marc is one of a few other people who come to him for inspiration or insight. Had he the power to remember the things he saw, he could become a medium, or a fortune teller of sorts, but alas, even that crucial peice of information was denied him in the long run. Every time Marc would come to the Oracle, he would have forgotten the things he saw on the previous visit. He didn't think this day was going to be an exception.

     "Hello Oracle, I've come to see, you."
     "What? Who is it? Oh, it's you Marc! Joy to see you again! Please sit down."
Marc kneeled over the cotton pillow on the matted floor, in a cross-legged position.
     "Oracle, how have, you been?"
     "Fine, fine, as old Bordeaux! Today I had my usual meal, chicken with a few po--"
The Oracle froze, the cold sweat on his forehead instantly told Marc what was going on. By now he was used the the Oracles ways of seeing.
     "--A baby duckling. Loses it's way from it's mother. Wanders, starving. Comes too close to the road...--
      --A card house. Pull the bottom left card. All cards fall. Pull the bottom right. House stands.--
      --A rabbit in the winter. Hides from the wolf in a tree trunk. Falls asleep. Freezes in slumber.--
      --A baby in a blindfold. People watch and smile. Falls of a cliff. Smile on his face.--
      --tatoes, some rice with sauce, you know, the usual..."
It was over. Marc knew when it was, the voice switch was obvious. The Oracle didn't even feel it. Time simply jumped a step for him. He wouldn't even remember it for long. Marc knew he wouldn't get much out of this visit. To him it was just a funny way of releasing the stress of his normal life. He just needed that to deal with his problems. To him the Oracle wasn't a friend entirely, more like the same kind of pillow you shoot at night to release the stress of a hard days worth. Marc stood up, thanked the Oracle for his hospitality, and began to turn around, when suddenly, he heard teh gunshot. He waited a few seconds, to make sure he wasn't shot yet. He turned around, and saw the Oracle for the first time in a position other than his sitting one. He was lying on the ground, with a pool of blood encircling his smiling face. Someone was careful enough to shoot him in teh neck through the only window in the room.

      Marc didn't think after that. There was no time to reflect. Police inflicted reflexes coupled with the death of such a mysterious man were more than enough to trigger Marc's next move. He headed out of the wooden door also in the room, soon pulling his first Desert Eagle out. The snow encased footprints weren't hard to see. Following them was like a walk in the park...He soon caught sight of the mysterious figure. At that time the only thing that mattered was teh existence of a figure. It's physical traits were needless to Marc at the time. The only thing that mattered was the bullet it was going to recieve via the Desert Eagle in Marc's left hand. He flollowed the figure to the second floor of a building two blocks away from the Oracles corpse. One flight of stairs, two flights of stairs, rooftop. The blizzard that started didn't seem to catch Marcs attention in the slightest. Soon he saw the figure, crouching over itself, with some sort of devices in it's hands. Marc still didn't care. He shot.

      He headed over to the body several minutes after it fell on the ground. It was a man, he was holding serynges filled with some toxic green and bright orange chemicals in one hand, and an opened bottle of the same face cream Marc's station was ordered to use not too long ago. Marc stared into these objects, as if staring longer would show him the answers he needed to know. He recieved none. Only a dead man who, upon further inspection through the pockets, used to work in the same station as himself. He could only assume the dead man was a junkie from the serynges, but it was the damn face cream that perplexed him more. And then suddenly, Marc remembered teh Oracle. He shed a tear. Shed a tear to the man who he not too long ago compared to a pillow. Marc didn't think it was worth avenging the destruction of a pillow, but he did find it right to avenge the death of a friend. And then the revelation came. Some of the nonsense the Oracle has been telling him for the past 14 years finally made some sense...

    Marc was the rabbit in the winter, freezing up in the tree trunk because he's hiding from the wolf. The Oracle was the baby everyone smiled to, but no one helped when he jumped off that cliff, with the same smile. He supposed the card house was a take on some sort of wise preaching for the future, but the duckling sentece was the one thing that didn't make sense. His mother didn't leave him, nor did he. He was well fed, and never got into much trouble. It clawed at his peace knowing there was one peice of evidence he could not make out of the Oracles sights. Now there definately was no one who could tell him what it meant. He was now completely alone, resent into the world with a prophecy he could not decipher, another misinformed pawn of fate. He ran down the flights of stairs, and started walking down to the Metro station on Boulevard des Invalides.

    He didn't want to go to the station like he was supposed to. The Oracles last words hit Marc like a bowling ball at the speed of sound. If he didn't want to freeze in the trunk, he would have to take his chances with the wolf. It was something he was ready for. He supposed they'd come after him when Shanita will find the Oracles rotting corpse, but he wouldn't be around for them to find him by then.

A snowflake landed on his nose. Several more turned it into a drop, which slid down his jacket and fell on his shoe. He wasn't looking, instead admiring the view of the sunset to the east as he headed for the Metro station just a few blocks away.



^----1998 words