Chronicles of the Black Angel. Part I: Hero of Mistaken Day.

The days were changing one after another, by the smooth way, by the overall imposed opinion. Tuesday after Monday, second after first, February after January… The thirty second day fell out of the total charger, and nobody caught sight of it… Just an invisible hand trembled, shaking out the aim, and, vexed with the mistake, fired again the usual burst to the sky. Wednesday after Tuesday, third after second, March after February…

And he was born on this day. On the sixty first minute of the twenty fifth hour this world heard his first cry, that like a clear song forced its way through the shroud of grey mediocre weekday. Broke the pane of glass, in a drop of light sparkled on the splinter and rushed upwards like a colorful rainbow …
He was the hero of this day: he came to this devilishly logical, but, nevertheless, strange world, that has stiffened in astonishment under the phantasmagoric sight of his unreal steel-blue eyes; he – Human.
And he wanted to live. Just to feel alive. He himself and the rest of the world. The world he was brought in by the thirty second day of the month…

But why ever all is so queasily logical?!.. Why it can’t be the eighth day of the week, or thirteenth month?! Just with a single cold phrase – It Can’t Be – the Lords of the World have aborted that suddenly appeared day with its mysteries and heroes… His powerful rainbow of life on the wing crashed to an iron wall of unreality and drowned in everlasting futility… And the sixty second minute forever devoured the last echo of his first cry …
The day was dead. Celestial chancellery just stroke it out of the total list as not wanted. The thirty second day…

And he was born on this day. Or has he ever been born?..