He looked up at the screen. He saw the same thing he saw yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. There was no reply to this email. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do. They had gone through so much in the last ten years. If it wasn't her fault it was his and if it wasn't his fault it was her's or timing. They never had a clean slate. A chance to actually grow with each other when they were capable of that growth.
He drove his Volvo station wagon down the winding hilly road. He had to get his mind off of everthing. It was overwhelming. He packed a few things back at his apartment, threwit in the back of his car, and just started driving. He listened to a playlist he had listened to a thousand times. Songs that he knew. They were familiar to him. From a time that was not associated with her directly.
When he pulled into a small hole-in-the-wall hotel off the frontage road in Connecticut, a cold feeling came over him. He slowly pulled the wagon to a smooth holt. He sat there for a second in the warm car; bracing himself for the cold that he was about to face when he opened the car door. You can actually hear the wind, he thought to himself. He pulled his coat around him tighter; a last stitch effort to block the oncoming wind.
Grudgingly, he opened the door. He could barely hear the typical creak of the hinges over the howling winter wind. He left his things in the car for now. There wasn't a vacancy sign so he didn't know if he would even need to bring his things.
He slowly made his way to the door of the office. He could feel the snow crunch beneath his feet. He walked with a slant gripping his coat close to his body. He threw the office door open gasping from the shrill air outside. The doors flew back smacking the walls they opened up to in the small corridor where the clerk was located.
He took off his hat and looked around. The walls were covered with typical hotel art. Cheap and bulk. Nothing that moved anyone. He reached the desk and found no one. He called out. No one answered. Then he saw something that took his breath away more than the cold wind outside. A small puddle of blood dripping from the counter. He gasped and then finally noticed something that now seemed too obvious to even be capable of overlooking: a pair of legs lying on the floor. The rest of the body was not visible lying in a dark backroom.
"Mister, you okay?", he was nervous with his tone. The person didn't answer. He said again,"Hello? Sir? Say something." He walked slowly towards the body. When he reached the lifeless legs he gave them a nudge with his feet. Nothing. Exactly what I needed. He looked around for the phone and couldn't find one. There might be one in the back room. That sounds safe. He didn't like the idea of going into this dark room. For all he knew, the killer was still around. Just waiting for another helpless victim. He couldn't just leave him there though. He took one last look around and took a deep breath and started slowly towards the door.
He reached out and pushed the door open slowly. He looked for the switch as more light flooded in. He finally found a switch that turned the cabinet light on. It was enough light to see in the room clearly. Good enough for him. He found the phone and quickly snatched it up and shoved it up to his ear. He heard nothing. Not even a busy signal. He followed the chord to the wall and discovered the frayed plastic remains of the phone chord. Shit. He began to walk back towards the door when a deep gutteral sound came from the room he was just in.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
The Rain and the Murderer
This was toxic now. He could feel a pollution seep deep into his veins. So why did it hurt so bad when it was gone. She was crazy for everything about him. He wasn't the same kind of person. he wasn't that romantic kid he was in high school, toting around the next round of "sweet nothings" notes for his current three-month love.
No, he was smarter, more adjusted, and definitely more cynical. He didn't see the stars anymore. He just saw a naked sky; void of all things magical and wondrous.
He grew up in the city; which honestly didn't help the fact that everything was mean. Everyone is hateful; even nice people. The good church-going people, that made their little secret judgements; going against everything that their church-going lives had plastered in their minds. He wasn't quite a religious man. That's not to say he didn't have a belief that something, some being made everything else; but it wasn't enough. Faith. What was that. It was blind. and he knew that he could never get past that. He could never believe entirely. He later realized that he had developed such a view in a lack of belief in his self.
He always thought that he was a good person but he knew deep down in the darkest corners of his soul that he wasn't. That he was ugly just like everyone else. But he wouldn't admit that to himself or anyone else because he was scared to. He was scared to know that among all things, he lacked faith most in himself. He was just an exoskeleton of blatant self-loathing. He was a monster.
For some reason she didn't see that, however. She saw something kind and pure in his impurity. He was worldly. He had been around and knew how things were. She tried and tried to rid herself of him but every aching bone in her body ached for him. A man that would never and could never believe in her the same as she believes in him. So she tortured herself whenever she could by just being around him. She felt disappointed in herself for even trying to justify the reason she subjected herself to such a masochistic relationship but she couldn't be without it. It hurt too much.
He didn't understand. Even then he questioned her faith in his integrity. He never understood why she saw so much good in a man that felt so lost and low that he lashed out on himself because it was the only thing he actually believed in. Nothing was sacred about it. Nothing was special about him. He would die as a nothing. He would die with no real goals achieved. No real accomplishments met. He would die a ghost.
When she finally found the courage to go to the cemetery to see him, she wiped the tears from her soaked cheeks and just got in the car and drove. She passed through small towns filled only with small populations and hole-in-the-wall filling stations. She finally reached her destination. It seemed so big in her mind, but it was only a small group of stones surrounded by dead birch trees scarcely covered in brown leaves.
The sky was gray. It was fitting I suppose, she thought to herself. It's exactly what I feel right now. She was reduced to shadow. She was a veil over a nightmare and now she had to face it with the music and everything. She parked the car on the outer road surrounding the site and sat in the car for several minutes trying to find the courage to be able to just open the door and walk. However, every time she got close enough to trying to pull the door latch, she could feel her knees shake and her legs becoming liquid. I have to. I just do. For me.
Another few minutes went by and she slowly eased the door open. Outside air hit her face like Autumn had literally punched her in the face for being so scared for so long. She put one foot out and then the other. It was almost as if she had to teach herself how. She didn't want this anymore. She never really did but this is what needed to be done. For her to live again. She started a slow pace down the dirt path towards his plot. She knew exactly where it was, even though she had never been there. It just was.
She crept up to the site noticing a few stray leaves dancing in the cold breeze and for a moment, she felt him. He was there. Joking like he did. Singing like he did. Making her think like he did. he was a spectre of emotion. She reached the head stone: Peter Strend, He will be missed. No one knew how true those words were. She had missed him so much. It had been two years since the accident. It had been two years since she died. And now she finally had to own up to what she did.
"She was in the middle of the road. She wasn't aware of the speeding Accura darting towards her like a leopard. She was trying to get the flat off. She had called me to come help her and I guess she didn't notice that I was there. I parked off the side of the road. I don't know how she didn't know I was there. It was raining loudly and as soon as I got out of my car I was soaked. The car wasn't slowing down and she wasn't moving so I ran. Sprinted. I had to. If I didn't, then everything about me, everything that I ever believed would be validated. That was a scary thought. So I ran trying to yell at her to move. Move before it was over. But she didn't understand. She just waved at me and went back to what she was doing."
"I couldn't understand him. He was yelling. But that was Peter. He was different and strange and did things like that. I started back at the tire again with the iron, turning it slowly because of the resistance that was still very evident. Then I feel his hands on my coat. They pull me up and then pulled me to the side of the road. He didn't let me go. He was slammed off of me by a car. It crushed into him going way too fast and sent him spiraling into the air. I could see him trying to gain control of himself while his body flailed around in air. When he finally landed he landed so hard on his head that I could here it smack on the pavement above the rain. I looked to see if the car had stopped and it was like it was never there. Vanished in the foggy rain. He lay there on the blacktop looking at me. I ran to him and dropped to my knees hard enough to leave bruises on them. The only way to tell that I was crying was that I could feel the tears secreting from my eyes. I could feel the warm drops down my cheeks mixing with the cold rain. He looked at me spurted out a few words. It was the last thing he ever said. He said "Don't stop looking". Then he smiled at me and let go of his life with one last breath. I sat there in a pool of his blood and wept. The ambulance came shortly after. I don't know who called them."
She tried to turn him into a hero in her mind and her stories of that day but she couldn't convince herself. She was mad at him. He killed her and then left entirely. Now she was completely convinced that she would never recover unless she told him the truth. She stood at his grave for a few seconds before she started to cry. She tried to choke back the tears but they were relentless. They inched from their cornias like poison. And then...she finally spoke.
No, he was smarter, more adjusted, and definitely more cynical. He didn't see the stars anymore. He just saw a naked sky; void of all things magical and wondrous.
He grew up in the city; which honestly didn't help the fact that everything was mean. Everyone is hateful; even nice people. The good church-going people, that made their little secret judgements; going against everything that their church-going lives had plastered in their minds. He wasn't quite a religious man. That's not to say he didn't have a belief that something, some being made everything else; but it wasn't enough. Faith. What was that. It was blind. and he knew that he could never get past that. He could never believe entirely. He later realized that he had developed such a view in a lack of belief in his self.
He always thought that he was a good person but he knew deep down in the darkest corners of his soul that he wasn't. That he was ugly just like everyone else. But he wouldn't admit that to himself or anyone else because he was scared to. He was scared to know that among all things, he lacked faith most in himself. He was just an exoskeleton of blatant self-loathing. He was a monster.
For some reason she didn't see that, however. She saw something kind and pure in his impurity. He was worldly. He had been around and knew how things were. She tried and tried to rid herself of him but every aching bone in her body ached for him. A man that would never and could never believe in her the same as she believes in him. So she tortured herself whenever she could by just being around him. She felt disappointed in herself for even trying to justify the reason she subjected herself to such a masochistic relationship but she couldn't be without it. It hurt too much.
He didn't understand. Even then he questioned her faith in his integrity. He never understood why she saw so much good in a man that felt so lost and low that he lashed out on himself because it was the only thing he actually believed in. Nothing was sacred about it. Nothing was special about him. He would die as a nothing. He would die with no real goals achieved. No real accomplishments met. He would die a ghost.
When she finally found the courage to go to the cemetery to see him, she wiped the tears from her soaked cheeks and just got in the car and drove. She passed through small towns filled only with small populations and hole-in-the-wall filling stations. She finally reached her destination. It seemed so big in her mind, but it was only a small group of stones surrounded by dead birch trees scarcely covered in brown leaves.
The sky was gray. It was fitting I suppose, she thought to herself. It's exactly what I feel right now. She was reduced to shadow. She was a veil over a nightmare and now she had to face it with the music and everything. She parked the car on the outer road surrounding the site and sat in the car for several minutes trying to find the courage to be able to just open the door and walk. However, every time she got close enough to trying to pull the door latch, she could feel her knees shake and her legs becoming liquid. I have to. I just do. For me.
Another few minutes went by and she slowly eased the door open. Outside air hit her face like Autumn had literally punched her in the face for being so scared for so long. She put one foot out and then the other. It was almost as if she had to teach herself how. She didn't want this anymore. She never really did but this is what needed to be done. For her to live again. She started a slow pace down the dirt path towards his plot. She knew exactly where it was, even though she had never been there. It just was.
She crept up to the site noticing a few stray leaves dancing in the cold breeze and for a moment, she felt him. He was there. Joking like he did. Singing like he did. Making her think like he did. he was a spectre of emotion. She reached the head stone: Peter Strend, He will be missed. No one knew how true those words were. She had missed him so much. It had been two years since the accident. It had been two years since she died. And now she finally had to own up to what she did.
"She was in the middle of the road. She wasn't aware of the speeding Accura darting towards her like a leopard. She was trying to get the flat off. She had called me to come help her and I guess she didn't notice that I was there. I parked off the side of the road. I don't know how she didn't know I was there. It was raining loudly and as soon as I got out of my car I was soaked. The car wasn't slowing down and she wasn't moving so I ran. Sprinted. I had to. If I didn't, then everything about me, everything that I ever believed would be validated. That was a scary thought. So I ran trying to yell at her to move. Move before it was over. But she didn't understand. She just waved at me and went back to what she was doing."
"I couldn't understand him. He was yelling. But that was Peter. He was different and strange and did things like that. I started back at the tire again with the iron, turning it slowly because of the resistance that was still very evident. Then I feel his hands on my coat. They pull me up and then pulled me to the side of the road. He didn't let me go. He was slammed off of me by a car. It crushed into him going way too fast and sent him spiraling into the air. I could see him trying to gain control of himself while his body flailed around in air. When he finally landed he landed so hard on his head that I could here it smack on the pavement above the rain. I looked to see if the car had stopped and it was like it was never there. Vanished in the foggy rain. He lay there on the blacktop looking at me. I ran to him and dropped to my knees hard enough to leave bruises on them. The only way to tell that I was crying was that I could feel the tears secreting from my eyes. I could feel the warm drops down my cheeks mixing with the cold rain. He looked at me spurted out a few words. It was the last thing he ever said. He said "Don't stop looking". Then he smiled at me and let go of his life with one last breath. I sat there in a pool of his blood and wept. The ambulance came shortly after. I don't know who called them."
She tried to turn him into a hero in her mind and her stories of that day but she couldn't convince herself. She was mad at him. He killed her and then left entirely. Now she was completely convinced that she would never recover unless she told him the truth. She stood at his grave for a few seconds before she started to cry. She tried to choke back the tears but they were relentless. They inched from their cornias like poison. And then...she finally spoke.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Cold Love-Cold Bath
The city was alive that night. He was sitting in his apartment and her in her's. They both wondered what the other was doing. Of course, her wonder was completely platonic at this point. She had been hurt so badly by all of this. She couldn't create concern for him. It was just that he was such a large part of her life for so long. She did miss him but It might be because I'm lonely she thought. She missed just having someone there. It was a little frightening. She felt on edge at night; locking all the door locks. Even installing a few for a little added securtiy.
She could remember the hot nights. Money was tight so they rarely ran the air conditioner. Nights are cool anyway. It was perfect. They would leave the window open. She could see the light from the surrounding building streaming in like a neon lazers from a science fiction movie. She could remember him rolling away from her, turning his back to her. She didn't realize it until the last few nights that it bothered her. It had for a long time. Maybe she just put it back because she loved him so much. She just couldn't understand why he couldn't be close with her. And its not just the rolling over she would rationalize in her mind. He wouldn't ever cuddle or anything. He was so cold and distant. Especially the last few months. It made her feel unwanted. It was the main reason that she decided to break up with him. She thought he didn't care for her as much as she cared for him.
Which wasn't true. He unpacked cardboard boxes filled with books and dishes. It was hard for him. Harder than he let her know. That wasn't how he was. He hurt privately. No one knew he was unhappy about it. It was just another woman to roll off his shoulder in front of everyone else; but she wasn't just anothe woman to him. She was special to him. He might have loved her. He very much liked her and he knew that.
He was wearing the red and white Cardinals baseball t-shirt that she bought him for his birthday. He loved it. Wore it all the time. It was comfortable. He opened each box and every cardboard flap wafted her smell. It made his eyes water. He could almost cry but he didn't. He had never felt this alone before. When his mom went to Rhode Island to get his dad when he ran off with some waitress that got around, he didn't feel this bad. This was emotional pain that transformed into physical pain. He went into the bathroom.
She could remember the hot nights. Money was tight so they rarely ran the air conditioner. Nights are cool anyway. It was perfect. They would leave the window open. She could see the light from the surrounding building streaming in like a neon lazers from a science fiction movie. She could remember him rolling away from her, turning his back to her. She didn't realize it until the last few nights that it bothered her. It had for a long time. Maybe she just put it back because she loved him so much. She just couldn't understand why he couldn't be close with her. And its not just the rolling over she would rationalize in her mind. He wouldn't ever cuddle or anything. He was so cold and distant. Especially the last few months. It made her feel unwanted. It was the main reason that she decided to break up with him. She thought he didn't care for her as much as she cared for him.
Which wasn't true. He unpacked cardboard boxes filled with books and dishes. It was hard for him. Harder than he let her know. That wasn't how he was. He hurt privately. No one knew he was unhappy about it. It was just another woman to roll off his shoulder in front of everyone else; but she wasn't just anothe woman to him. She was special to him. He might have loved her. He very much liked her and he knew that.
He was wearing the red and white Cardinals baseball t-shirt that she bought him for his birthday. He loved it. Wore it all the time. It was comfortable. He opened each box and every cardboard flap wafted her smell. It made his eyes water. He could almost cry but he didn't. He had never felt this alone before. When his mom went to Rhode Island to get his dad when he ran off with some waitress that got around, he didn't feel this bad. This was emotional pain that transformed into physical pain. He went into the bathroom.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Single Fire
She stood there in the sunlight. She was wearing a green and yellow summer dress. It flowed down her body like perfectly shaped waterfalls of fabric. She was smiling and twirling around; and every time the sun hit her eyes just right, they sparkled like diamonds. Her hair was blonde and swaying in the wind from her rotations. She was beautiful in his eyes. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.
She was the fondest memory in this point of his life. Lying in a puddle of mud. He could only guess what he would have to endure next. He could hear enemy troops in the distance; and if they find him they would either kill him or they would torture him until he wished they had. His heart was pumping like a washing machine his chest. His head was profusely perspiring. His eyes were burning from the drops of sweat that were falling in them.
He had gotten separated from his troupe a few hours ago after an ambush. As far as he saw, Johnson was dead. He saw brain matter bash out the back of his head. It slopped on the ground with a terrible sound. Then again, so did Johnson. I'm so fucked. I'm fucking fucked! He was scared at this point. He didn't even feel the pain in his eyes anymore.
He had very little ammo left. A few clips if that. He loaded his pistol and rifle and decided to move. Maybe I could get ahead of them while there's still distance between us. He didn't have much hope.
He came out of the small growth that he had been hiding under for two and a half hours. He was bleeding on his leg from shrapnel. It hadn't gotten stuck but it was definitely gonna be a scarring wound. He was bleeding profusely. His whole right pant leg was a wet mixture of green and red. He limped away from the edge of the wooded area. He couldn't see anyone. It was clear.
Everything was clear but one shot from one gun from one man.
She was the fondest memory in this point of his life. Lying in a puddle of mud. He could only guess what he would have to endure next. He could hear enemy troops in the distance; and if they find him they would either kill him or they would torture him until he wished they had. His heart was pumping like a washing machine his chest. His head was profusely perspiring. His eyes were burning from the drops of sweat that were falling in them.
He had gotten separated from his troupe a few hours ago after an ambush. As far as he saw, Johnson was dead. He saw brain matter bash out the back of his head. It slopped on the ground with a terrible sound. Then again, so did Johnson. I'm so fucked. I'm fucking fucked! He was scared at this point. He didn't even feel the pain in his eyes anymore.
He had very little ammo left. A few clips if that. He loaded his pistol and rifle and decided to move. Maybe I could get ahead of them while there's still distance between us. He didn't have much hope.
He came out of the small growth that he had been hiding under for two and a half hours. He was bleeding on his leg from shrapnel. It hadn't gotten stuck but it was definitely gonna be a scarring wound. He was bleeding profusely. His whole right pant leg was a wet mixture of green and red. He limped away from the edge of the wooded area. He couldn't see anyone. It was clear.
Everything was clear but one shot from one gun from one man.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
The Done Time
He took time to see this through. He wasn't scared anymore of all the things that they kept telling him. He was confident in himself. He knew he could do it. Shit, its just like it used to be. He used to think to himself like this all the time. While he was showering or shaving. Then his mind would go to a bad place. A place where no one actually had been except him.
He saw fifty dead bodies still warm on the ground before him. Several of their backs were ripped apart from the previous crossfire that rained on the now bloody coast. They were wet and drenched in thin red. He walked past them and came across a man with half of his completely blown away in pieces on his dead comrade underneath him. His mouth was open. He could tell from the bloody other half of the lips where they once made an "o" shape. Jesus Christ, this shit can't be real. Not again. Not ever again!"
He wasn't slipping. He wasn't tired of anything at that poing back then when everything was so new to him. He was at the top of his game. In line to get a promotion soon. He was damn sure what he was fucking doing. He got in his car and rode down to the city. He could see the lights reflecting off the side of the fresh paint in a golden way. The city was a red son beating down on him.
He got to the usual place where he did most of his thinking. By then, he had been quite nervous about what he could do. So he stood there looking at everything. The lights. The buildings. And he took it all in. Very slowly and very solemnly. What was that thing I saw. It couldn't have been what they've all been talking about round here. He tried to convince himself that these people were crazy. That it was just something of a nightmare that old wives told their children when daddy got drunk after work; to give them a fuss. However, now he couldn't be sure. He was alone and something had happened and he did see something in that road that didn't seem normal. It had tore them apart. He started to feel sick to his stomach but he kept driving anyway.
He saw fifty dead bodies still warm on the ground before him. Several of their backs were ripped apart from the previous crossfire that rained on the now bloody coast. They were wet and drenched in thin red. He walked past them and came across a man with half of his completely blown away in pieces on his dead comrade underneath him. His mouth was open. He could tell from the bloody other half of the lips where they once made an "o" shape. Jesus Christ, this shit can't be real. Not again. Not ever again!"
He wasn't slipping. He wasn't tired of anything at that poing back then when everything was so new to him. He was at the top of his game. In line to get a promotion soon. He was damn sure what he was fucking doing. He got in his car and rode down to the city. He could see the lights reflecting off the side of the fresh paint in a golden way. The city was a red son beating down on him.
He got to the usual place where he did most of his thinking. By then, he had been quite nervous about what he could do. So he stood there looking at everything. The lights. The buildings. And he took it all in. Very slowly and very solemnly. What was that thing I saw. It couldn't have been what they've all been talking about round here. He tried to convince himself that these people were crazy. That it was just something of a nightmare that old wives told their children when daddy got drunk after work; to give them a fuss. However, now he couldn't be sure. He was alone and something had happened and he did see something in that road that didn't seem normal. It had tore them apart. He started to feel sick to his stomach but he kept driving anyway.
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Lost Man
This is the last time he would really know who he was. It was the only thing he could think of now. He found solace in the fact that he was a well adjusted man. His whole life had been unstable, but everyone saw Jeff as such a well ranged person. A great neighbor. Very kind to everyone. He even taught a few music classes from his office for very affordable prices. He had even done some work for the church band's sound equipment. A few faulty wires mended and upgraded the power and cut the cost of the energy bill in half. He was something of a find as the ladies would say.
He was an attractive man. He stood 6 feet five. He had very dark toned skin with light blonde hair that looked golden on top of his head in the right light. His body was a toned mold of veins and muscles that pulsated at his normal human gestures. He was all of that and he was about to nothing at all. No existence according to any record book, any neighbors memory, nothing. But he really loved one person and was scared to be rid of them completely.
Tracy was the first person in his life that made him feel normal and comfortable with himself. She made him feel better about all the things that happened to him when he was young. He could talk to her about all of those things and he knew that somehow she would end up remaining his memory somewhere. Even if it was somewhere even he couldn't get to.
He sat up in his bed. His silk comforter laying heavy on his legs. He was comfortable in a physical way but his mind was racing as fast as a shuttle launch. 5..4...3... He could hear the countdown in his head. He got out of the beds in very slow movements. His body was aching now with just getting out of bed. He walked to the bathroom and flushed his face with cold water from the sink. He had let it run for a few seconds to make it as cold as possible. He thought about taking a shower but then he decided that there would be no reason for one. He would be gone for so long. He got dressed and sat on the bed. He ran his hands through his hair; a long time nervous habit he had had since he was eleven.
He slowly slipped his shoes on ankles getting caught on the heel. He looped the strings on his shoes and tied a knot tightly on both shoes.
He gasped strongly and slipped both knees and rocked back. He rolled forward and stood up and walked straight to his coat. He grabbed it and draped it over his right arm. He grabbed the door knob with the free arm and walked out slowly. He left the door open....
He was an attractive man. He stood 6 feet five. He had very dark toned skin with light blonde hair that looked golden on top of his head in the right light. His body was a toned mold of veins and muscles that pulsated at his normal human gestures. He was all of that and he was about to nothing at all. No existence according to any record book, any neighbors memory, nothing. But he really loved one person and was scared to be rid of them completely.
Tracy was the first person in his life that made him feel normal and comfortable with himself. She made him feel better about all the things that happened to him when he was young. He could talk to her about all of those things and he knew that somehow she would end up remaining his memory somewhere. Even if it was somewhere even he couldn't get to.
He sat up in his bed. His silk comforter laying heavy on his legs. He was comfortable in a physical way but his mind was racing as fast as a shuttle launch. 5..4...3... He could hear the countdown in his head. He got out of the beds in very slow movements. His body was aching now with just getting out of bed. He walked to the bathroom and flushed his face with cold water from the sink. He had let it run for a few seconds to make it as cold as possible. He thought about taking a shower but then he decided that there would be no reason for one. He would be gone for so long. He got dressed and sat on the bed. He ran his hands through his hair; a long time nervous habit he had had since he was eleven.
He slowly slipped his shoes on ankles getting caught on the heel. He looped the strings on his shoes and tied a knot tightly on both shoes.
He gasped strongly and slipped both knees and rocked back. He rolled forward and stood up and walked straight to his coat. He grabbed it and draped it over his right arm. He grabbed the door knob with the free arm and walked out slowly. He left the door open....
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Transparency
He started thinking about letting it go but then as soon as the idea came into his head, he craved it. He wanted it. He wasn't even sure why. He wasn't desperate, he wasn't cranky, he was just addicted to it. He felt the need growing slowly. Even if he wanted to stop, he was sure no that he couldn't; not without being forced anyway. It was an instinctive thing that he relied on now. Like smoking a cigarette.
His friends would tell him that he had a problem. I'm not that bad. I do other stuff. They never really gave him a chance. They never took him seriously. Some might say that that was the reason he started so strong in the first place. Or maybe thats just what he thought. He was confused sometimes. He couldn't decipher between his mind and reality anymore.
He was addicted. But it was emotional. There was nothing chemically binding him to the drug. It was happiness when it entered his lungs. It was like he was leveled out by it. When he wasn't on it, he was a catalyst of his former self. He was like a crack addict, always having to be occuppied by something. He would clean like he never would when he was stoned. He would turn in job applications in a professional way. However, it always seemed to end with the same thing. And he never learned.
His friends would tell him that he had a problem. I'm not that bad. I do other stuff. They never really gave him a chance. They never took him seriously. Some might say that that was the reason he started so strong in the first place. Or maybe thats just what he thought. He was confused sometimes. He couldn't decipher between his mind and reality anymore.
He was addicted. But it was emotional. There was nothing chemically binding him to the drug. It was happiness when it entered his lungs. It was like he was leveled out by it. When he wasn't on it, he was a catalyst of his former self. He was like a crack addict, always having to be occuppied by something. He would clean like he never would when he was stoned. He would turn in job applications in a professional way. However, it always seemed to end with the same thing. And he never learned.
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