is enough

The crash of cars took him from his darkness. One shrill honk, a voice yelling "Sorry about that!" Another chiming "think nothing of it." People came in. He stared at the shapes of movement, the colors of clothing. Bright yellows, patterns of lines , flowers, shapes. Had he forgotten this or had the materials changed? Anything was possible, he thought. They move so quickly.

Flattening himself into the crack between the wall and the massive, open door, he watched the people as they came in from the light outside. The colors separated into too many tiny details, and he looked at gray hair piled neatly in a bun, blond hair lighter than the sunlight braided in tight braids, streaks of blue and green in another like mermaids' tresses (only these were shorter and wilder), graying ash hair covering bald spots.

Too much, he thought. Enough to drive anyone mad. Perhaps it already had.

Like trembling swords of ice, his hands reached out to warn the crowd away.

He would protect them this way. Protect. Who?

He could almost see the someone behind him, holding on to him against the onslaught of chaos.