Some days are just not your day. Some days you want to throw the TV remote at the TV, and then throw the TV out the window. Some days you want to stop in traffic and sit there because the guy behind you is tailgating you. Some days you want to scream at the top of your lungs until they explode, and then scream some more afterwards. Some days you just want to curl up into a ball and cry. And some days are just simply bad days.
Like today.
Woke up late, had a freezing cold shower, fell down the stairs and bumped my shin, had a horrible breakfast and then couldn't find my toothbrush. Couldn't start the car because the lights had been left on. Had to get a jump start from my grumpy neighbor who I hate. Got stuck in traffic so I was late for work. Got yelled at by my boss for being late. Went to get a coffee but it was cold--drank some anyway. Then the computer wouldn't start. Crawled under the desk to see what was wrong and spilled cold coffee on my back. Jumped in surprise and hit my head on the bottom of my desk which knocked the computer monitor onto the floor. Now the screen's cracked. Got up to go to the washroom and yell. Shirt got caught on the edge of my cubicle and the whole thing fell over. I just walked away. Got in the washroom and realized I forgot to shave. Yelled. Went back to my cubicle and everyone in the office was standing around it. Picked up my cubicle and got on the phone to order a new computer. Put on hold--for five hours. Tried to explain to my boss why I got nothing done today. Got yelled at again. Went to go home and my tire was flat. Called a tow truck. Waited two hours. Got a two-hundred dollar bill for having my tire filled with air. Got stuck in traffic on the way home. Got pulled over by a police officer...
Great. Just what I need on a day like today. A ticket. I hate the awkward spanse of time between the cop pulling you over and then actually getting out of the car to come and talk to you. Seriously, what do they do in there? Must be writing down my license plate number or something, I wasn't even speeding! Did I make an illegal lane change? This guy better give me a warning because I don't even know that I did anything wrong. He must be a new cop, just started a while ago. Stupid beginners. I don't need a ticket right now, I have bills to pay! Looks like another month without my new boat. What an asshole, this cop is taking away my chance to get a boat! I bet he knows it! Whatever, here he comes.
Roll down my window.
"What seems to be the problem officer?" he has a huge grin on his face. Of course he does, he must be having a great day. Asshole.
"Well my friend I was just--oh, my apologies sir."
"I'm sorry?" he is a beginner; friggin idiot...
"No I just thought you were someone else. You have the exact some car as a friend of mine and I wanted to give him a little scare as a joke seeing as its been real slow today. You can be on your way sir, sorry about the confusion." he starts walking back to his car.
"What?" take of my seatbelt: this is the last straw.
"It was all a joke sir you did nothing wrong you be on your wa--okay sir I need you to step back into your car." yea, now he's having a slow day.
"I have had the worst day today, and you expect me to take something like this as okay? I'm stressin out because I can't afford a ticket right now, and you tell me it's a joke?" walking towards the cop, startin to get real sarcastic. Turns out he's the one I'm going to lose it on: "It's people like you, 'officer' who make me so mad." cop pulls out his gun.
I'm standing on the side of a freeway with a gun being pointed at me.
Keep walking towards the cop.
"Sir I need you to calm down and get back into your car."
"You my friend, are a complete asshole."
Jump at the cop, get shot in the leg. Fall over and land near his feet. Cop starts hand-cuffing me, punch him in the face. Get pepper sprayed. Taken to the hospital, then to the station. In excruciating pain the entire time. Told my rights and put into an overnight cell at the station. Call my wife. Explain I've made a total fool of myself. Get my ear rung out by my freaked out wife. Have a sleepless night. Get released and given a court date.
Go Home, have a shower, and call my lawyer.
Yea, some days are just not your day.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Press Play
"You know, they say weird things only happen to weird people, kinda the same way that karma works.
But I've never considered myself weird, and no one ever told me I was weird, but weird crap happens to me all the time.
Like last week, I was just walking to my car in the parking lot--just a regular day after work--when some weirdo-kinda-bum-kinda-hobo person ran up to me and handed me a really old VCR--you know, like before there was a rewind button, just put in the tape and play.
So anyways this really weird guy hands me this VCR in a really panicky way: 'I need you to hold on to this for me.' he was panting really heavy, like he'd been running for a while or somethin'.
'Don't watch the tape in it,' he says, 'just hide it, and keep it safe.'
I thought it was some sort of joke, but I saw no harm in holding on to it for him. I threw it in the trunk of my car and forgot about it.
Three days later the hobo shows up at my door, only this time he's got his hair slicked back real nice and wearin' a fancy suit and tie. Had a nice pair of sunglasses on too, and one of those fancy ear walkie-talkies that they got in spy movies. I didn't hardly recognize the guy. He asks me how the VCR is and I tell him I don't know cuz its been sitting locked in my trunk for three plus days.
Suddenly this guy starts gettin real mad, like something I've never seen before. Mother F***er strangles me and tells me to unlock the trunk for him. I pop the trunk and he walks over there so fast I'm surprised he didn't trip or somethin.
He dug around the trunk a bit and threw my stuff all over the ground, made a real mess to be honest. Then he finds the VCR and checks to see if the tape's still there.
It's there--of course it is, would it go anywhere if it was locked in my trunk?
He nods to me, hops in a BMW parked across the street and drives away, leaving a mess and a crappy old VCR/tape strewn across my trunk and driveway.
A few days go by and nothing happens. Then I get a phone call yesterday afternoon from the guy--don't even wanna know how he got my number--tellin me to look on the bottom of the VCR. He says there's a piece of black tape there that blends in with the things color. Tells me to peel it off and follow the instructions written on the bottom--the ones in white.
So I look for the VCR and find it after about ten minutes. Takes longer to find the damned piece of tape
than it did the VCR. Mister hobo wasn't lying when he said it blends in. I finally found it and peeled it off.
It was then that I knew what he meant by, 'the ones in white.' There were four different instructions on there all written in different colors like this was intended for more than one person or something.
My instructions were at the bottom of the list.
I was pretty pissed when I read them: 'press play'. Honestly, f***in hobo coulda said that on the phone. Anyway, I plugged the piece of junk into the wall and pressed play.
All of a sudden I hear this faint scratchin noise comin from the VCR. I pushed open the flap to see what it was and instead of a tape I see a f***in bomb. There's a little counter on there says seven seconds, so I book it outta my house counting down the time in my head.
6 - flyin for the hallway
5 - burst into the hallway
4 - see the door
3 - reach for the handle
2 - jiggle the handle
1 - throw open the door
0 - get thrown onto my lawn by a shockwave and everything goes black. Next thing I know I'm sittin' in here with you Mr. Talone, and that' why I don't got your money."
But I've never considered myself weird, and no one ever told me I was weird, but weird crap happens to me all the time.
Like last week, I was just walking to my car in the parking lot--just a regular day after work--when some weirdo-kinda-bum-kinda-hobo person ran up to me and handed me a really old VCR--you know, like before there was a rewind button, just put in the tape and play.
So anyways this really weird guy hands me this VCR in a really panicky way: 'I need you to hold on to this for me.' he was panting really heavy, like he'd been running for a while or somethin'.
'Don't watch the tape in it,' he says, 'just hide it, and keep it safe.'
I thought it was some sort of joke, but I saw no harm in holding on to it for him. I threw it in the trunk of my car and forgot about it.
Three days later the hobo shows up at my door, only this time he's got his hair slicked back real nice and wearin' a fancy suit and tie. Had a nice pair of sunglasses on too, and one of those fancy ear walkie-talkies that they got in spy movies. I didn't hardly recognize the guy. He asks me how the VCR is and I tell him I don't know cuz its been sitting locked in my trunk for three plus days.
Suddenly this guy starts gettin real mad, like something I've never seen before. Mother F***er strangles me and tells me to unlock the trunk for him. I pop the trunk and he walks over there so fast I'm surprised he didn't trip or somethin.
He dug around the trunk a bit and threw my stuff all over the ground, made a real mess to be honest. Then he finds the VCR and checks to see if the tape's still there.
It's there--of course it is, would it go anywhere if it was locked in my trunk?
He nods to me, hops in a BMW parked across the street and drives away, leaving a mess and a crappy old VCR/tape strewn across my trunk and driveway.
A few days go by and nothing happens. Then I get a phone call yesterday afternoon from the guy--don't even wanna know how he got my number--tellin me to look on the bottom of the VCR. He says there's a piece of black tape there that blends in with the things color. Tells me to peel it off and follow the instructions written on the bottom--the ones in white.
So I look for the VCR and find it after about ten minutes. Takes longer to find the damned piece of tape
than it did the VCR. Mister hobo wasn't lying when he said it blends in. I finally found it and peeled it off.
It was then that I knew what he meant by, 'the ones in white.' There were four different instructions on there all written in different colors like this was intended for more than one person or something.
My instructions were at the bottom of the list.
I was pretty pissed when I read them: 'press play'. Honestly, f***in hobo coulda said that on the phone. Anyway, I plugged the piece of junk into the wall and pressed play.
All of a sudden I hear this faint scratchin noise comin from the VCR. I pushed open the flap to see what it was and instead of a tape I see a f***in bomb. There's a little counter on there says seven seconds, so I book it outta my house counting down the time in my head.
6 - flyin for the hallway
5 - burst into the hallway
4 - see the door
3 - reach for the handle
2 - jiggle the handle
1 - throw open the door
0 - get thrown onto my lawn by a shockwave and everything goes black. Next thing I know I'm sittin' in here with you Mr. Talone, and that' why I don't got your money."
Friday, July 24, 2009
Life?
Sitting in my room
Looking at the door
Something feels different
Even though I've been here before
The floor is the same
The window is the same
Walls are okay
And ceiling seems normal too
But the door...
It's been shaking quite unnaturally - for the past several minutes.
There's a bit of light squeezing through the crack at the bottom of the door frame too. This would usually be expected - if my lights were off - but this luminescence outshines the singular bulb somewhere above my head.
And it's green.
A green, slimy light making its way further into the sanctity of my bedroom, accompanied by the constant rattling of that stupid shaking door.
I take a second look.
The light is slimy.
A beam of light, a ray of luminescence - is as slimy as the slop in a pig's pen on a rainy day. I can touch it, i can feel it, but I can't pick it up for the life of me. Then again, I've never been able to pick up light before. I've also never FELT light before, but that happened just now.
I'm so absorbed by this non-absorbent substance that the room simply fades away. The dull, assorted colors of my room melt, meld, and darken to a nullifying gray.
The only light is the, 'slime' oozing in front of me.
It's completely through the door now, because the door has disappeared It's just me and this slim, alone and not knowing what to do. What happens next? Who knows. We'll just have to wait and see.
Me and my pretty slime - waiting for something interesting to happen.
Looking at the door
Something feels different
Even though I've been here before
The floor is the same
The window is the same
Walls are okay
And ceiling seems normal too
But the door...
It's been shaking quite unnaturally - for the past several minutes.
There's a bit of light squeezing through the crack at the bottom of the door frame too. This would usually be expected - if my lights were off - but this luminescence outshines the singular bulb somewhere above my head.
And it's green.
A green, slimy light making its way further into the sanctity of my bedroom, accompanied by the constant rattling of that stupid shaking door.
I take a second look.
The light is slimy.
A beam of light, a ray of luminescence - is as slimy as the slop in a pig's pen on a rainy day. I can touch it, i can feel it, but I can't pick it up for the life of me. Then again, I've never been able to pick up light before. I've also never FELT light before, but that happened just now.
I'm so absorbed by this non-absorbent substance that the room simply fades away. The dull, assorted colors of my room melt, meld, and darken to a nullifying gray.
The only light is the, 'slime' oozing in front of me.
It's completely through the door now, because the door has disappeared It's just me and this slim, alone and not knowing what to do. What happens next? Who knows. We'll just have to wait and see.
Me and my pretty slime - waiting for something interesting to happen.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Splash
I've never been friends with someone who's dying before.
It feels weird, and very unsure, like when you're testing the temperature of water in a lake or pond to see what it's like, but you know in the back of your mind that you'll end up jumping no matter what the temperature is. It'll be really cold at first, almost shocking. But you'll get used to it, and keep swimming for a while. Still, there will always be that voice in the back of your head telling you it's still really cold, and the odd time it will win over. You'll get out, and jump right back in again to do it all over again.
I'm still testing the water, not willing to believe the cold and shocking truth: my friend is going to die.
Daren Bello is going to die. He's only 18 years old--but he's going to die.
I don't really understand how it happened; the kid was always really healthy. He's been on the town's swim team for as long as anyone can remember, and he's a damn good diver too. He had this crazy dream to go to the Olympics, which earned him the nickname, 'little Phelps'. We used to joke around about it and tease him about his big dream, even though we all knew that he could at least qualify.
Dammit. I wipe a stray, salty tear from my worried eyes as I try and focus on the road.
"Save the crying for later." I say to myself, "Can't see the road with water in your eyes."
Ten minutes later I'm at the hospital, sitting in the parking lot.
This is all so unreal.
My best friend, my confidant and companion since the day we could communicate, is leaving and never coming back.
I'm walking through the front doors of the hospital now, hands in my pockets and staring straight ahead, not really focused on anything in particular. Normally I would be taken aback by the size and beauty of a building like the several-stories-high-hospital--but not today.
I walk like a dark zombie towards the receptionist and say in a bleak, defeated voice, "Daren Bello please" the lady nods and gives me his room number, handing me a sanitary mask, gloves and shoes while doing so. They're probably the newest--and cleanest--pieces of clothing on me as I slowly make my way to Daren's room.
My heart flutters nervously as I begin to realise that this may be the last time I ever see my dear friend. What am I supposed to say? How do you say goodbye forever?
I'm preparing to jump into the water.
I could tell him I'm sorry, and start blaming things like the government and poverty, probably shouldn't do that with guards around though.
I feel a wetness on my cheek and reach up to realise that I've drenched my sanitary mask with tears. The reality of the situation is really starting to hit me: I'm in the middle of my first jump into the icy cold water, somewhere in mid-air probably. I can see Daren's room from here, and I'm hit by a sudden wave of anger and questions.
Why did we have to be born here? Why do we live in poverty? Why is there third world countries like this one? This small, stupid country of Liberia. If it wasn't for this country, Daren wouldn't have malaria, and he probably wouldn't die from it either.
Splash.
It feels weird, and very unsure, like when you're testing the temperature of water in a lake or pond to see what it's like, but you know in the back of your mind that you'll end up jumping no matter what the temperature is. It'll be really cold at first, almost shocking. But you'll get used to it, and keep swimming for a while. Still, there will always be that voice in the back of your head telling you it's still really cold, and the odd time it will win over. You'll get out, and jump right back in again to do it all over again.
I'm still testing the water, not willing to believe the cold and shocking truth: my friend is going to die.
Daren Bello is going to die. He's only 18 years old--but he's going to die.
I don't really understand how it happened; the kid was always really healthy. He's been on the town's swim team for as long as anyone can remember, and he's a damn good diver too. He had this crazy dream to go to the Olympics, which earned him the nickname, 'little Phelps'. We used to joke around about it and tease him about his big dream, even though we all knew that he could at least qualify.
Dammit. I wipe a stray, salty tear from my worried eyes as I try and focus on the road.
"Save the crying for later." I say to myself, "Can't see the road with water in your eyes."
Ten minutes later I'm at the hospital, sitting in the parking lot.
This is all so unreal.
My best friend, my confidant and companion since the day we could communicate, is leaving and never coming back.
I'm walking through the front doors of the hospital now, hands in my pockets and staring straight ahead, not really focused on anything in particular. Normally I would be taken aback by the size and beauty of a building like the several-stories-high-hospital--but not today.
I walk like a dark zombie towards the receptionist and say in a bleak, defeated voice, "Daren Bello please" the lady nods and gives me his room number, handing me a sanitary mask, gloves and shoes while doing so. They're probably the newest--and cleanest--pieces of clothing on me as I slowly make my way to Daren's room.
My heart flutters nervously as I begin to realise that this may be the last time I ever see my dear friend. What am I supposed to say? How do you say goodbye forever?
I'm preparing to jump into the water.
I could tell him I'm sorry, and start blaming things like the government and poverty, probably shouldn't do that with guards around though.
I feel a wetness on my cheek and reach up to realise that I've drenched my sanitary mask with tears. The reality of the situation is really starting to hit me: I'm in the middle of my first jump into the icy cold water, somewhere in mid-air probably. I can see Daren's room from here, and I'm hit by a sudden wave of anger and questions.
Why did we have to be born here? Why do we live in poverty? Why is there third world countries like this one? This small, stupid country of Liberia. If it wasn't for this country, Daren wouldn't have malaria, and he probably wouldn't die from it either.
Splash.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Beauty and the Disney
Once upon a time I was a perfectly happy feminine member of the royal family of some royal and perfect kingdom somewhere, living in a beautiful castle in a beautiful kingdom. I had this amazing ability to communicate and make harmony with animals--which, I might add, no one ever questioned--and my beastial friends led me to the most handsome and dreamy man in the land.
He was perfect, and ten times better looking than any other man around--literally. Seeing as I am a woman and my only ambition in life is to marry a handsome man/prince/pauper-soon-to-become-prince, I set out to marry him...despite the fact that I had never even made eye contact with him.
We met the next day by me disguising myself as a lowly peasant, and fell in love immediately.
The next DAY we were about to be married, when this really mean and evil person decided that it would be the perfect moment to hatch their evil plan to take over the kingdom. My new love was apparently an amazing swordsman, and after about ten to twenty minutes of swordplay, he triumphed with a great huzzah and boasting of his chest.
The nasty evil person was immediately sent to prison--rather than be executed realistically--but he(for women are rarely evil) will probably escape someday so that we can have a sequel and make more money despite the fact that the sequel will be twice as bad as the original.
But, for now, we'll all(me, my prince, the animals, and my aging weak father) just live happily ever after--right after I get a boob-job so that my prince will appreciate me more.
The End
He was perfect, and ten times better looking than any other man around--literally. Seeing as I am a woman and my only ambition in life is to marry a handsome man/prince/pauper-soon-to-become-prince, I set out to marry him...despite the fact that I had never even made eye contact with him.
We met the next day by me disguising myself as a lowly peasant, and fell in love immediately.
The next DAY we were about to be married, when this really mean and evil person decided that it would be the perfect moment to hatch their evil plan to take over the kingdom. My new love was apparently an amazing swordsman, and after about ten to twenty minutes of swordplay, he triumphed with a great huzzah and boasting of his chest.
The nasty evil person was immediately sent to prison--rather than be executed realistically--but he(for women are rarely evil) will probably escape someday so that we can have a sequel and make more money despite the fact that the sequel will be twice as bad as the original.
But, for now, we'll all(me, my prince, the animals, and my aging weak father) just live happily ever after--right after I get a boob-job so that my prince will appreciate me more.
The End
Monday, June 29, 2009
Solitude
Wrote this at 2 this morning...couldn't sleep cuz I had this idea...then if just kind of flowed out onto the paper :P. Enjoy.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Humans are indeed remarkable.
Some days all we long for is companionship, to be able to love and be loved, to communicate and to be known.
Other days we're not so sure what we want, we know we want something...but what? We cannot begin to elaborate on what it is, and neither can we give the slightest hint to its description...because we simply don't know.
And on those rare days, we simply want to be alone. Away from distractions, away from enjoyments, away from friends, and away from family.
Alone.
It was on the latter of these three types of days that I found myself perched in a massive and grotesquely knotted old oak tree which looked out onto the peaceful and flowing hayfields of my grandparent's farm. I was fourteen years old, and had recently been denied the love of my first crush.
Her name was Alexia, and she was barely a year above me in age. She always hung out with the older kids, which made it harder for me to spend time with her, so I suppose I didn't know her as well as I would have liked. One thing I did know was her beauty--and what a beauty it was indeed. She had beautiful jet-black hair, which flowed across her smooth-skinned face and down to her back. Every time she glanced my way, I caught a heavenly glimpse of her stunning grey-green eyes, and her pale red lips.
I still don't understand how any of my peers could have ever disagreed with me. Some even tried to discourage me by saying things such as, "She's out of your league" or, "She's too popular dude". These phrases of course meant nothing to me at the time, but later on I would learn to take them as a challenge.
As I sat in that beautiful oak tree overlooking that beautiful field in that beautiful moment of solitude on that beautifully peaceful day, I began to tell myself that one rejection wasn't enough. Hell, five-hundred rejections wouldn't be enough to deter me: I loved this girl and I wasn't about to let her stop me from having her. I looked out into the field once more and considered the irony of my last thought.
I then considered the quiet solitude I was enjoying so much. I imagined what it would be like with Alexia there...probably not so quiet, and probably not so peaceful either. She would gab on and on about trivial matters while I rested myself in one of the many crooks of the old oak tree, watching the sunset and not having a care in the world.
So I sat and watched the sunset from the old oak in the old field owned by my old grandparents, and still do so every day of my life. Lately I am almost always joined by a special guest: a beautiful woman by the name of Jade. She is quiet, like myself, and we often sit arm in arm watching the glorious sunset, enjoying the wonderful feeling of solitude--together.
(deleted paragraph?...wasn't sure whether or not to add this part)
For as I said, humans are remarkable and do not always know what they want: solitude or companionship. On these most troublesome of days we tend to make the best of both worlds, and simply combine the two. Slightly ironic, wouldn't you think?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Humans are indeed remarkable.
Some days all we long for is companionship, to be able to love and be loved, to communicate and to be known.
Other days we're not so sure what we want, we know we want something...but what? We cannot begin to elaborate on what it is, and neither can we give the slightest hint to its description...because we simply don't know.
And on those rare days, we simply want to be alone. Away from distractions, away from enjoyments, away from friends, and away from family.
Alone.
It was on the latter of these three types of days that I found myself perched in a massive and grotesquely knotted old oak tree which looked out onto the peaceful and flowing hayfields of my grandparent's farm. I was fourteen years old, and had recently been denied the love of my first crush.
Her name was Alexia, and she was barely a year above me in age. She always hung out with the older kids, which made it harder for me to spend time with her, so I suppose I didn't know her as well as I would have liked. One thing I did know was her beauty--and what a beauty it was indeed. She had beautiful jet-black hair, which flowed across her smooth-skinned face and down to her back. Every time she glanced my way, I caught a heavenly glimpse of her stunning grey-green eyes, and her pale red lips.
I still don't understand how any of my peers could have ever disagreed with me. Some even tried to discourage me by saying things such as, "She's out of your league" or, "She's too popular dude". These phrases of course meant nothing to me at the time, but later on I would learn to take them as a challenge.
As I sat in that beautiful oak tree overlooking that beautiful field in that beautiful moment of solitude on that beautifully peaceful day, I began to tell myself that one rejection wasn't enough. Hell, five-hundred rejections wouldn't be enough to deter me: I loved this girl and I wasn't about to let her stop me from having her. I looked out into the field once more and considered the irony of my last thought.
I then considered the quiet solitude I was enjoying so much. I imagined what it would be like with Alexia there...probably not so quiet, and probably not so peaceful either. She would gab on and on about trivial matters while I rested myself in one of the many crooks of the old oak tree, watching the sunset and not having a care in the world.
So I sat and watched the sunset from the old oak in the old field owned by my old grandparents, and still do so every day of my life. Lately I am almost always joined by a special guest: a beautiful woman by the name of Jade. She is quiet, like myself, and we often sit arm in arm watching the glorious sunset, enjoying the wonderful feeling of solitude--together.
(deleted paragraph?...wasn't sure whether or not to add this part)
For as I said, humans are remarkable and do not always know what they want: solitude or companionship. On these most troublesome of days we tend to make the best of both worlds, and simply combine the two. Slightly ironic, wouldn't you think?
Friday, May 22, 2009
Half hour
A half hour gone. A half hour away. A half hour leaving me to sit some more. A half hour of thinking. A half hour of contemplating. A half hour of wondering and wishing. A half hour of listening. A half hour of talking. A half hour of going insane.
I sit and I think and I wonder and I contemplate. I sit up and slouch down and even turn around. I moan, I groan, I rack my brain. So many questions but only one answer, am I really going insane?
I thought I knew the answer, thought I knew it well. I figured this would be a breeze, but it turned out to be a near living hell. This desk is so bland and boring. Nothing but a sheet of paper and a raw chewed up pencil. Wait a minute, somethings missing! O yea, the eraser fell on the floor last time I moved.
Should I pick it up? Nah, what's there to erase? I haven't written much. A few scribbles here and there, nothing I need to touch.
I glance around the eerily quiet room with a tired sigh. A voice says, 'Shut up!' and I do my best to comply.
As turn to face the horrible paper again my eyes catch the old grandfather clock. Another half hour before the horrible song.
I'm tired and bored; what am I doing this for? I stand up to walk away. It's not that simple.
'What are you doing?'
'I'll be on my way.'
'Sit down! I think you'll find it best to stay.'
The voice is commanding and intimidating some how.
So I sit. And continue to look around.
It's all one color, this grotesque little room. A stark white, with nothing on the walls or ceiling. Look up, look down, look all around, nothing but the color of snow.
The few others in the room slowly begin to move. They stand and slump towards a certain corner of the ugly space. One, two, three, and four...there aren't anymore.
Save for me; the fifth; the odd one out. Left sitting here to pout.
'Can I leave?'
'Oh no. Stay till your finished, then it will be time to go.'
What an odd person.
I finally see them now, the source of the voice. With frizzled Grey hair and a large poofy mustache. Their eyebrows are really thick too...kind of scary...like someone who would go boo.
They're staring at me intently. Why not? I'm the only one in the room.
What do they want me to do? Oh right, the paper, woohoo.
I glance back at the clock, about a quarter to. Fifteen more minutes, before the awful thing goes coo.
You'd almost think I'm crazy, not knowing where I am, but I start to wonder how I got here, and where my story began. Why am I afraid of the clock, or this creepy old man? I stand up once again.
'SIT DOWN!'
Oh right, that's why.
But how'd this start? Where did my story begin? Furthermore, how did it lead here, to this place where I can't win?
I look back at the paper, covered in scribbles, but just that, no letters. Or maybe they are, I just am unable to read.
My heart starts to beat; what happened to me? Am I really going crazy, or perhaps just insane?
I try to make out the words, but I try in vain: I'm stuck in this room, unable to leave. I can't finish the paper, because I can't read. Maybe I can write, but turns out I can't even draw.
The man just keeps staring, boring through me like a drill. I'm a piece of dumb wood, stuck in wood hell. I look around once more, at the clock I so dread. One more minute, and then I'll be dead.
How do I know? What makes me so sure? If I know not how I came here, how do I know where I go?
Something is telling me. It's that man in the corner. He must be controlling me, having some kind of order.
I stand up again. This time with valor. That man wants to kill me, and he's been waiting half an hour.
But as I get up, he makes a move too. The clock has now struck, and the crowd is yelling boo.
There's a crowd? Come from where?
'No where really, they're suddenly...just there.' says the man
'How do you know?'
'I just do' he replies
'Fair enough I suppose.'
We're both standing now, with weapons in hand. I've a sharp pencil, and he a hot brand.
He won't try to kill me, he'll make me his own. Some kind of slave I guess, depressed and alone. I lunge and he moves, swinging at me with a fist full of rage.
He seemed so calm a moment ago, but now a new person all his own.
I trip and I fall, but I don't hit the ground. I just keep going through nothing. No sights, and no sound.
It's all white you see, the walls, and the floor, and the ceiling above me.
But were they ever even there? Who knows? I don't care.
I look back up to see the man there, far away with his desk and his chair.
He's still holding his iron, looking down upon me. What world am I in, that fills me with such glee?
I have not a care as I continue to float--for that's what it is. There is no air rushing past me and no ground to hit. I'll stay here forever I suppose, alone but free. Better than being held in captivity.
How did I know he would take me a slave? Perhaps he was helping me, or trying to be brave.
I'll never know though, because he is long gone. I'll just float here forever, looking on and on.
Someday I may meet another, one as fortunate as me. To have left the cruel world and come soaring through the breeze.
But until then I'll just float, forever and ever, here in my happy boat.
***
'Jimmy? Jimmy! WAKE UP JIMMY! That's better. Have you finished your test yet? No? What were you doing all this time? Day dreaming? You'll just have to finish it tomorrow then. We only have a half hour class though so you'll have to be quick. See you tomorrow. What do I think of slavery? It's wrong and it's illegal, now be on your way. No I don't have a branding iron! What's wrong with you child? Are you going insane?'
'I think I am.'
I sit and I think and I wonder and I contemplate. I sit up and slouch down and even turn around. I moan, I groan, I rack my brain. So many questions but only one answer, am I really going insane?
I thought I knew the answer, thought I knew it well. I figured this would be a breeze, but it turned out to be a near living hell. This desk is so bland and boring. Nothing but a sheet of paper and a raw chewed up pencil. Wait a minute, somethings missing! O yea, the eraser fell on the floor last time I moved.
Should I pick it up? Nah, what's there to erase? I haven't written much. A few scribbles here and there, nothing I need to touch.
I glance around the eerily quiet room with a tired sigh. A voice says, 'Shut up!' and I do my best to comply.
As turn to face the horrible paper again my eyes catch the old grandfather clock. Another half hour before the horrible song.
I'm tired and bored; what am I doing this for? I stand up to walk away. It's not that simple.
'What are you doing?'
'I'll be on my way.'
'Sit down! I think you'll find it best to stay.'
The voice is commanding and intimidating some how.
So I sit. And continue to look around.
It's all one color, this grotesque little room. A stark white, with nothing on the walls or ceiling. Look up, look down, look all around, nothing but the color of snow.
The few others in the room slowly begin to move. They stand and slump towards a certain corner of the ugly space. One, two, three, and four...there aren't anymore.
Save for me; the fifth; the odd one out. Left sitting here to pout.
'Can I leave?'
'Oh no. Stay till your finished, then it will be time to go.'
What an odd person.
I finally see them now, the source of the voice. With frizzled Grey hair and a large poofy mustache. Their eyebrows are really thick too...kind of scary...like someone who would go boo.
They're staring at me intently. Why not? I'm the only one in the room.
What do they want me to do? Oh right, the paper, woohoo.
I glance back at the clock, about a quarter to. Fifteen more minutes, before the awful thing goes coo.
You'd almost think I'm crazy, not knowing where I am, but I start to wonder how I got here, and where my story began. Why am I afraid of the clock, or this creepy old man? I stand up once again.
'SIT DOWN!'
Oh right, that's why.
But how'd this start? Where did my story begin? Furthermore, how did it lead here, to this place where I can't win?
I look back at the paper, covered in scribbles, but just that, no letters. Or maybe they are, I just am unable to read.
My heart starts to beat; what happened to me? Am I really going crazy, or perhaps just insane?
I try to make out the words, but I try in vain: I'm stuck in this room, unable to leave. I can't finish the paper, because I can't read. Maybe I can write, but turns out I can't even draw.
The man just keeps staring, boring through me like a drill. I'm a piece of dumb wood, stuck in wood hell. I look around once more, at the clock I so dread. One more minute, and then I'll be dead.
How do I know? What makes me so sure? If I know not how I came here, how do I know where I go?
Something is telling me. It's that man in the corner. He must be controlling me, having some kind of order.
I stand up again. This time with valor. That man wants to kill me, and he's been waiting half an hour.
But as I get up, he makes a move too. The clock has now struck, and the crowd is yelling boo.
There's a crowd? Come from where?
'No where really, they're suddenly...just there.' says the man
'How do you know?'
'I just do' he replies
'Fair enough I suppose.'
We're both standing now, with weapons in hand. I've a sharp pencil, and he a hot brand.
He won't try to kill me, he'll make me his own. Some kind of slave I guess, depressed and alone. I lunge and he moves, swinging at me with a fist full of rage.
He seemed so calm a moment ago, but now a new person all his own.
I trip and I fall, but I don't hit the ground. I just keep going through nothing. No sights, and no sound.
It's all white you see, the walls, and the floor, and the ceiling above me.
But were they ever even there? Who knows? I don't care.
I look back up to see the man there, far away with his desk and his chair.
He's still holding his iron, looking down upon me. What world am I in, that fills me with such glee?
I have not a care as I continue to float--for that's what it is. There is no air rushing past me and no ground to hit. I'll stay here forever I suppose, alone but free. Better than being held in captivity.
How did I know he would take me a slave? Perhaps he was helping me, or trying to be brave.
I'll never know though, because he is long gone. I'll just float here forever, looking on and on.
Someday I may meet another, one as fortunate as me. To have left the cruel world and come soaring through the breeze.
But until then I'll just float, forever and ever, here in my happy boat.
***
'Jimmy? Jimmy! WAKE UP JIMMY! That's better. Have you finished your test yet? No? What were you doing all this time? Day dreaming? You'll just have to finish it tomorrow then. We only have a half hour class though so you'll have to be quick. See you tomorrow. What do I think of slavery? It's wrong and it's illegal, now be on your way. No I don't have a branding iron! What's wrong with you child? Are you going insane?'
'I think I am.'
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