Post by TinCanHitman on Jun 16, 2013 4:00:55 GMT -6
He was there again, just sitting there, like always.
The same little chess table.
The same park off the main road.
The same slightly cloudy day, his favorite.
And her.
The same girl, always there.
He did what he always did, smiled at her and motioned to the seat in front of himself. She sat there, like usual, and smiled back, moving the white pawn at the second farthest right space (as always), and then they would talk about his day. She wasn't like anyone else, no, it was something unique. She didn't just talk, she listened, and she didn't just listen, she understood.
He would say how he was tired of not having a decent job. She would nod and tell him how hard the job world was. He would say he was tired of having to beg his father for money. She would say how she hated asking her parents for anything as well. It was perfect, she understood him to a T. She would always talk about him (something no one would do) and never asked him to stop and listen to her problems. She was selfless to him, all their time was his, and he loved it.
It always progressed the same way as well, they would sit and he would unload, never even playing chess, they would simply talk. He would get his problems out and she would give all of her time to him, everything she had. At first he feared she was not sincere, but the slight glint in her eyes, and the way her face changed to every sentence he said. She cared, and he felt it radiate off of her.
They would finally stop talking and just look at eachother, then stand up and hold hands as they walked to the tiny coffee shop around the corner. By the time they got their simple coffees and walked back towards his apartment it was already dark. The time he spent with her flew by, faster than anything he had ever experienced. It was breathtaking, and he never missed a chance to look at her divine beauty in the glow of the street lights.
Then they would be there, standing on the steps of his apartment building, holding each others hands as they gazed at one another, and right as they would lean in, her breath brushing lightly against him...
He would wake up, the screeching of his four dollar alarm clock dredging him from the warmth of what he must know is truth. And so he was there again, sitting in his wretched life, sitting with the gloom of the waking world resting around him. The faint smell of her still lingering at the edge of his conscious mind, but never lasting, as the harsh smoke of reality punctuated his agony. He would drag himself from his half sleep and prepare for the coming day.
He would put on the same gray uniform, with the same gray stripes, and the dull yellowed stitched on name tag. He would put on the same boots, tie his laces the same way, and finally, walk to the same bus stop to ride the same bus. He was a gray skeleton of his former jovial self. The real world etching in worry lines around his face, as it also took the luster from his skin. Everyone around him seemed to glow as if they themselves drank ambrosia, and all he was was a hollowed shell, shambling through their lives as a background character. He was a C actor in their B movie.
Nothing in his waking life held the same joy as his sleeping. She never failed, she was always there, waiting for him like a faithful german shepherd. He soon found himself living at night and letting his mind 'sleep' during the day. Working by rote, instead of actually being there. He soon found that he couldn't sleep enough, eating less and sleeping more. He began to take sleeping pills, just to see her smiling face.
But soon he became bitter, every day wasn't just grey any more, it was black and all consuming. He would wake and find that his alarm clock didn't make him sad, it made him enraged. He would fling it across the room, crying out a strangled roar as he flung himself about. He would go about his day with anger, no longer envying the golden deities around him, but hating them. Soon enough even she was just anger for him.
One day it finally happened. Instead of the slightly cloudy day it was dark, darker than any real night could be. She sat across from him and smiled, but her usually cooling smile only opened her up for an attack. And so, he said it.
Everything.
He said every thing that ever made him mad about anything. Why didn't he have rich parents who just threw money at him? Why did his older brother get a car and he didn't? Why did his mother love his younger brother more? Why is it every girl he had ever loved had laughed at him and walked away? Why didn't he have a nice house, and a nice car, a nice dog and a good job?
And finally, he said it.
"And who are you? Why aren't you real? And why can't I get a REAL girlfriend?" he was screaming now, and had completely ignored the girl. She wasn't actively crying, but the way her lip quivered, and her eyes glinted ever so slightly, he knew she had had enough. She stood up and walked away. So simply, the world swallowing her up and leaving him in his cold bed once more, he himself crying.
He knew he had wronged the only person who actually cared about him. He swore this night he would do it, he would finally kiss her. It wasn't until he woke from a blank sleep that he began to truly fear, that primal fear of loneliness. He didn't have to wait for the next night of blankness to know, he had lost her. The only thing ever (it seemed) to care about him, to love him, was gone...
So, it was over. The last flame of hope had been extinguished from his heart. His now dying soul was dead. He was finally, truly, hollow. Nothing ever brought him joy. Not the promise of the coming night, nore the coming day. It was blank. He might as well have been dead.
Maybe that's why when he saw the knife he didn't realize (or care?) that the man wasn't a average pedestrian. Maybe that's why when he felt himself flung into the wall, the glinting blade now dripping as blood poured from his side, that he wasn't asleep. It wasn't even the pain that made him realize what was going on. He didn't fully realize until he felt the warmth start to overtake him.
He was dying...
He could feel as his life seemed to slip from the hole in his side, the warmth wrapping around him like a heavy fog. He felt his face involuntarily rise into a small smile. The finale smile of a person who no longer cared for what he was. And as his mind slipped into the black haze, the world being absorbed into the inky dark, he could manage to think about only one thing.
"Maybe...she'll be there..."
The same little chess table.
The same park off the main road.
The same slightly cloudy day, his favorite.
And her.
The same girl, always there.
He did what he always did, smiled at her and motioned to the seat in front of himself. She sat there, like usual, and smiled back, moving the white pawn at the second farthest right space (as always), and then they would talk about his day. She wasn't like anyone else, no, it was something unique. She didn't just talk, she listened, and she didn't just listen, she understood.
He would say how he was tired of not having a decent job. She would nod and tell him how hard the job world was. He would say he was tired of having to beg his father for money. She would say how she hated asking her parents for anything as well. It was perfect, she understood him to a T. She would always talk about him (something no one would do) and never asked him to stop and listen to her problems. She was selfless to him, all their time was his, and he loved it.
It always progressed the same way as well, they would sit and he would unload, never even playing chess, they would simply talk. He would get his problems out and she would give all of her time to him, everything she had. At first he feared she was not sincere, but the slight glint in her eyes, and the way her face changed to every sentence he said. She cared, and he felt it radiate off of her.
They would finally stop talking and just look at eachother, then stand up and hold hands as they walked to the tiny coffee shop around the corner. By the time they got their simple coffees and walked back towards his apartment it was already dark. The time he spent with her flew by, faster than anything he had ever experienced. It was breathtaking, and he never missed a chance to look at her divine beauty in the glow of the street lights.
Then they would be there, standing on the steps of his apartment building, holding each others hands as they gazed at one another, and right as they would lean in, her breath brushing lightly against him...
He would wake up, the screeching of his four dollar alarm clock dredging him from the warmth of what he must know is truth. And so he was there again, sitting in his wretched life, sitting with the gloom of the waking world resting around him. The faint smell of her still lingering at the edge of his conscious mind, but never lasting, as the harsh smoke of reality punctuated his agony. He would drag himself from his half sleep and prepare for the coming day.
He would put on the same gray uniform, with the same gray stripes, and the dull yellowed stitched on name tag. He would put on the same boots, tie his laces the same way, and finally, walk to the same bus stop to ride the same bus. He was a gray skeleton of his former jovial self. The real world etching in worry lines around his face, as it also took the luster from his skin. Everyone around him seemed to glow as if they themselves drank ambrosia, and all he was was a hollowed shell, shambling through their lives as a background character. He was a C actor in their B movie.
Nothing in his waking life held the same joy as his sleeping. She never failed, she was always there, waiting for him like a faithful german shepherd. He soon found himself living at night and letting his mind 'sleep' during the day. Working by rote, instead of actually being there. He soon found that he couldn't sleep enough, eating less and sleeping more. He began to take sleeping pills, just to see her smiling face.
But soon he became bitter, every day wasn't just grey any more, it was black and all consuming. He would wake and find that his alarm clock didn't make him sad, it made him enraged. He would fling it across the room, crying out a strangled roar as he flung himself about. He would go about his day with anger, no longer envying the golden deities around him, but hating them. Soon enough even she was just anger for him.
One day it finally happened. Instead of the slightly cloudy day it was dark, darker than any real night could be. She sat across from him and smiled, but her usually cooling smile only opened her up for an attack. And so, he said it.
Everything.
He said every thing that ever made him mad about anything. Why didn't he have rich parents who just threw money at him? Why did his older brother get a car and he didn't? Why did his mother love his younger brother more? Why is it every girl he had ever loved had laughed at him and walked away? Why didn't he have a nice house, and a nice car, a nice dog and a good job?
And finally, he said it.
"And who are you? Why aren't you real? And why can't I get a REAL girlfriend?" he was screaming now, and had completely ignored the girl. She wasn't actively crying, but the way her lip quivered, and her eyes glinted ever so slightly, he knew she had had enough. She stood up and walked away. So simply, the world swallowing her up and leaving him in his cold bed once more, he himself crying.
He knew he had wronged the only person who actually cared about him. He swore this night he would do it, he would finally kiss her. It wasn't until he woke from a blank sleep that he began to truly fear, that primal fear of loneliness. He didn't have to wait for the next night of blankness to know, he had lost her. The only thing ever (it seemed) to care about him, to love him, was gone...
So, it was over. The last flame of hope had been extinguished from his heart. His now dying soul was dead. He was finally, truly, hollow. Nothing ever brought him joy. Not the promise of the coming night, nore the coming day. It was blank. He might as well have been dead.
Maybe that's why when he saw the knife he didn't realize (or care?) that the man wasn't a average pedestrian. Maybe that's why when he felt himself flung into the wall, the glinting blade now dripping as blood poured from his side, that he wasn't asleep. It wasn't even the pain that made him realize what was going on. He didn't fully realize until he felt the warmth start to overtake him.
He was dying...
He could feel as his life seemed to slip from the hole in his side, the warmth wrapping around him like a heavy fog. He felt his face involuntarily rise into a small smile. The finale smile of a person who no longer cared for what he was. And as his mind slipped into the black haze, the world being absorbed into the inky dark, he could manage to think about only one thing.
"Maybe...she'll be there..."
