The End of Day 3

Now I tasted from the fountain of youth.

Something that conquistadors bled for, that alchemist stole for, I tasted at the end of three days of fasting.

I had felt my blood from so long ago. Pumping hot, full of rage, full of knowledge.

As sped forward in time I felt the rapid progressions of the particles of nature like shivers in my spine. Flash forward, reliving my life in rapid succession, harnessing all the molecules of my mind to focus on the grail that I had travelled time to capture. The rage of youth, what precious promethean fire.

I had discovered super powers, made myself beautiful at will, and travelled time only to force myself into a state of midlife crisis. Yet it is this state of midlife crisis which is necessary to do anything of consequence. The rage of youth is the stuff of arrogance, and arrogance is the stuff of kings.

When I was once again in the presence it was 72 hours to the microsecond from when the trance had begun. I was thin. I was beautiful. I had the fire of my youth.

My clothes had all fallen off, as it was clothes for a man 3 times my size, and I needed quickly to adapt.

I walked down the street to find a young man, handsome and stylish in the present chic. He was perfect for what I required of him. His clothes, his money, his life.

He was trying not to look at me. Nude in public, not so strange in my metropolis. We have drug addicts and mad men just like everyone else.

I could read his microexpressions, little super-fast clenches of his facial muscles, telling me what his neurons tried to keep secret inside his skull. My prey thought I was a drug addict. He was in a hurry, trying to avoid whatever nonsense I would bring.

I grabbed his arm.

"Let the fuck go of me you junkie!" he hollered. A true native.

I allowed my grip to connect, using my meta-awareness of my molecular structure to read his muscles. My body was a weapon now, far more than the average person. I read his skin cells like the blind reading braille. Thousands of little twitches, sweat, the movement of hair follicles, all telling me where to strike, where my victim was weak. All in a time spanning less than five seconds.

As marvellous as my ability to control my body was, my ability to see the second for what it truly is was far greater. Each second is an eternity.

I struck him with my leg on the hindpart of his knee. Bringing down this genetic masterpiece to the ground.

The look of terror on his face as he fell powerless was accentuated by my ability to see all the expressions his face found in the moments.

I fell upon him with a perfect grasp of gravity, my forearm on his throat.

I watched his eyes bulge as his gasps could not find breath.

I smiled. It was like watching a fish on dry land. A failure of evolution, just like this amazing specimen.

Briefly I contemplated not killing him.

What nonsense, I had to kill him. It was the necessary fuel for my fire I had fought so hard to bring. My fire of youthful rebellion. My ancient rage.

If I walked away from him without taking his life, without completing my purification, I would just be some freak. Some phenomena of the new age. What impotence!

I looked into his eyes, carefully watching the artful struggle of the pupil as the brain loses its grip.

My victim was as beautiful in the moment as he was alive.

His clothes fit my new body perfectly.