As his hand dropped again to his side, he began to fade, becoming transparent. From the midriff he slowly disappeared, and I could see the platform and the party through his form until there was nothing left there at all.
Friday, 19 June 2009
Down on the broad Underground platform, the party was in full swing. There was a hubbub of chatter, the clink of glasses. I stood close to the wall, holding a glass of wine, when a tall figure in white came and stood in front of me. He wore long white robes, which were bound round the lower half of his face. On his head he wore a tight-woven cap of white ribbons. A good head taller than me, he looked down with his piercing dark eyes. Raising the forefingers of his right hand up to the level of my eyes, he said solemnly 'Don't forget. It's in the Second Manifesto'.