Stars give off all the light a couple of kindred hearts need to see. She looked so beautiful with a few stars glowing on her face. Her pale delicate skin dusted with a light coat of makeup she didn’t even need. Her green eyes sparkled with life. They were always so full of excitement, for nothing in particular. Her twisting brown hair playfully coiled down to her shoulders. She was a portrait I could stare out for hours, etched in my memories for eternity.
“I wish you could see life the way I did.” Her soft lips released the words to break the silence we had been sharing.
“Part of me has that same wish, but I am far to jaded to see outside my own eyes.” My words spilt out and I was careful to dam up the swell of emotion that followed. Every night I lived and died in her eyes, and tonight was no different.
“There is an amazing person drowning in your self-doubt.” With her words her eyes trailed out the window, like she was collecting her words from the stars.
“That self-doubt is partly responsible for creating that person. We are all tragically flawed.” My words where hard to find in the moon light, but she did her best to understand. Our nightly conversations were all that made me feel alive on such a stormy few years. The clouds where closing in over my head, but for the few real moments we shared alone, none of that mattered.
“One day you will find him, that great person inside you, and I can’t even begin to imagine what you will be like then.” She was always trying to save me from myself, and it was hard to tell if she was winning the battle or not.
“Hopefully someone who makes a difference.” My gaze broke the electric galaxies in her eyes and found the stars in the sky.
“6 billion of us shape this small blue marble careening through space. It is such a small segment of the entire picture. Like a speck of insignificant dust. And I want nothing more than to impact it. To be remembered. Immortalized by the turning of the page and the actions of my life.” Sometimes I felt my words where lost on her, but in reality she understood she just didn’t have the words for a response. I felt the sensation of her skin meeting mine; I could hold her hand forever. But it meant far more to me, than it ever would to her. Certainly not for lack of trying though.
“One day I hope to sweep you off your feet, steal your heart, and be your prince in shining armor.”
“I hope you do too.” Her voice trailed off undoubtedly signifying the improbability of that happening. Everything that stood in my way she knew far better than I did. Life was like a mine field of complications, and my heart was taking a beating. It would be a miracle if I pulled through, and she was a miracle to me. She turned the car engine to life and it groaned. I knew this was the start of the goodbye. And when she left, parts of me left with her. Wondering if I would ever get to wear that suit of armor. And the truth was I never would.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Cemetery Breeze
The Dead overgrowth of plant like matter clung to a frail rusted fence. The fence bordered a small hilltop cemetery, dividing wild unkept forest with man-made structures. The headstones plummet upward from the soil, reaching for the dull summer sky. Their hollow inscriptions begged for remembrance of those who passed by, but only one man ever paid his respects. This man’s face was creased and stretched with age, the color form his hair was drained and the years of gravity had pushed him downward onto his cane. But the old man’s most stunning feature where his eyes. Such a piercing and pure blue, so vivid and illuminate yet heavy and troubled by all they had witnessed.
The man knelt before each grave stone, spewing personal words to the cold granite slabs, as if they had the ears to hear him. A small disturbance rustled in the brush, the old man purposefully erected himself above his cane to face the unusual visitor. A young teenage girl slowly eased open the rickety gate, its screeches breaking the silence of a rather still day. She was very aware of the old man’s presence, but refused to engage him in conversation till she was standing in his shadow.
“Hmmm you must be the Cemetery watchman.” The young girl spoke with a sense of doubt, as if she didn’t expect the old man existed till just now.
“Not one for pleasantries are you my dear?” the old man spoke slow and shaky pausing carefully to collect his words.
“Yes I am the caretaker of this resting place, and what might be your name dear?” the young girl craned her head, surveying the small cemetery.
“Seems to be a mess if you ask me, you must not do a very good job around here. And my name is Amy” The young girl caught the man’s gaze to see if her words had provoked him in any way. But the man simply chuckled at the brashness of her youth.
“Well Amy it’s not the landscape I tend to dear, it’s the memories.”
“The memories? What could you possibly mean by that, you tend to what memories?” the old man smiled, he was in awe of her curiosity. A sensation he had long since out grown.
“I am the preserver, a historian if you will. I know everything that ever was about that little town.” The old man stretched out a feeble finger putting the town of Utopia at his finger tip on the horizon.
“What’s worth remembering about Utopia’s history? If we get caught up in the past we will lose sight of our future!” the girls words we obviously coached, her opinions had be designed by the school system and her elders. She clearly didn’t see the world the way the old man did.
“When man perishes, it is his history that remains. Not his goals for the future. If one becomes too caught up in progress and the obsessive hunt for perfection he loses sight in the beauty of the moment. Can I tell you a story young lady?” the man’s piercing eyes flushed with care, softly awaiting her reply.
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“My dear you can’t properly listen to a story if you are not in a position to hear it! Let’s sit.” The man gestured for her to sit beside him, using the grave stone as a back rest for the both of them.
“Isn’t that disrespectful? To sit on a grave like that.” The girl seemed very concerned with the consequences of the man’s action.
“These people no longer hold value of earthly things, besides I knew most of these people and I am sure they would gladly give me a place to sit if they still happened to be alive. Now stop your worry and come have a seat.” The two sat beside each other in the dead weeds. Each of them on opposing ends of the human spectrum, but coming together to rehash a common interest. The man pulled a small green stem from the mass of perished organic matter. The man carefully examined the stem before releasing it to the wind and letting his eyes settle on the city scape before him.
“You see Time changes everything, and not always for the better. Decades pass sculpting the face of that little town like clay. Forming and reforming the stage. Changing the characters and changing the actors. Only the moving of the clock remains the same, the minute hand continues to move. But that doesn’t mean there are not lessons to be learned from the past, or memories to be cherished. 100 years ago this town was carved into that valley with one goal in mind. To create a tolerant paradise where all citizens could progress together in harmony. The founders of Utopia dreamed of a city where all its members could work toward creating a perfect environment, I city version of Heaven here on earth. So the people of Utopia aimed for just that, every day seeking to further perfect there little paradise and themselves as people. Before long the cultures only goal was obsession with making everything perfect. Not everyone could keep up with this ideal, but rather than be cast out of Utopia most decided to put up a façade, to act as though they were perfect. Before long this obsession had consumed the town, and I was the only one to speak out about the problem. Eventually they cast me out for speaking heresy. I tried to teach those people that the beauty in life is in the imperfections and that happiness is not attempting to make things perfect, but accepting the things you can’t change and being okay with that. But not a one listened to my words, it’s often that those who try to change the discourse are labeled at insane traitors. I knew my actions would lead to my exile but I had grown tired of the endless pursuit for something better, when life was already beautiful. And now here we are, I am exiled to this mountain top to preserve the past and the wisdoms life has taught me, and every day I look out over Utopia and see the ill effects of their duplicity and obsession. Everyone lying to one another, children forced to improve and perfect. And endless cavalcade of new surgeries to perfect the body and mind, they seek to achieve a goal that will never be reached. The grass is always greener, and you can only give chase for so long before your body withers and your mind is exhausted.” The man’s words trailed off, his age made him tire in the most trivial of actions, and his rant had drained his energy reserves. The girl looked into the old man’s eyes.
“What can we do?” concern permeated her voice. It was clear the old man had captured the young girls inspiration.
“We, I am afraid nothing in that context, but you… you can always make a change.” The old man was growing even shorter of breath. He paused between words even longer than before.
“How, I am just a teenager. One teenager! How could I change anything of importance.”
“What you do with your life, may change what other people do with theirs. And like ripples in a water, in time you can affect the entire lake. I think I am going to nap for a short while, I am sorry. I wish you the best Amy.” The old man closed his eyes breathing deeply to relax his body. Amy stood up and began her journey back down the hillside toward her home. All the while the old man watched thinking of the ripple he just created and in that thought he finally found peace with which to rest.
The man knelt before each grave stone, spewing personal words to the cold granite slabs, as if they had the ears to hear him. A small disturbance rustled in the brush, the old man purposefully erected himself above his cane to face the unusual visitor. A young teenage girl slowly eased open the rickety gate, its screeches breaking the silence of a rather still day. She was very aware of the old man’s presence, but refused to engage him in conversation till she was standing in his shadow.
“Hmmm you must be the Cemetery watchman.” The young girl spoke with a sense of doubt, as if she didn’t expect the old man existed till just now.
“Not one for pleasantries are you my dear?” the old man spoke slow and shaky pausing carefully to collect his words.
“Yes I am the caretaker of this resting place, and what might be your name dear?” the young girl craned her head, surveying the small cemetery.
“Seems to be a mess if you ask me, you must not do a very good job around here. And my name is Amy” The young girl caught the man’s gaze to see if her words had provoked him in any way. But the man simply chuckled at the brashness of her youth.
“Well Amy it’s not the landscape I tend to dear, it’s the memories.”
“The memories? What could you possibly mean by that, you tend to what memories?” the old man smiled, he was in awe of her curiosity. A sensation he had long since out grown.
“I am the preserver, a historian if you will. I know everything that ever was about that little town.” The old man stretched out a feeble finger putting the town of Utopia at his finger tip on the horizon.
“What’s worth remembering about Utopia’s history? If we get caught up in the past we will lose sight of our future!” the girls words we obviously coached, her opinions had be designed by the school system and her elders. She clearly didn’t see the world the way the old man did.
“When man perishes, it is his history that remains. Not his goals for the future. If one becomes too caught up in progress and the obsessive hunt for perfection he loses sight in the beauty of the moment. Can I tell you a story young lady?” the man’s piercing eyes flushed with care, softly awaiting her reply.
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“My dear you can’t properly listen to a story if you are not in a position to hear it! Let’s sit.” The man gestured for her to sit beside him, using the grave stone as a back rest for the both of them.
“Isn’t that disrespectful? To sit on a grave like that.” The girl seemed very concerned with the consequences of the man’s action.
“These people no longer hold value of earthly things, besides I knew most of these people and I am sure they would gladly give me a place to sit if they still happened to be alive. Now stop your worry and come have a seat.” The two sat beside each other in the dead weeds. Each of them on opposing ends of the human spectrum, but coming together to rehash a common interest. The man pulled a small green stem from the mass of perished organic matter. The man carefully examined the stem before releasing it to the wind and letting his eyes settle on the city scape before him.
“You see Time changes everything, and not always for the better. Decades pass sculpting the face of that little town like clay. Forming and reforming the stage. Changing the characters and changing the actors. Only the moving of the clock remains the same, the minute hand continues to move. But that doesn’t mean there are not lessons to be learned from the past, or memories to be cherished. 100 years ago this town was carved into that valley with one goal in mind. To create a tolerant paradise where all citizens could progress together in harmony. The founders of Utopia dreamed of a city where all its members could work toward creating a perfect environment, I city version of Heaven here on earth. So the people of Utopia aimed for just that, every day seeking to further perfect there little paradise and themselves as people. Before long the cultures only goal was obsession with making everything perfect. Not everyone could keep up with this ideal, but rather than be cast out of Utopia most decided to put up a façade, to act as though they were perfect. Before long this obsession had consumed the town, and I was the only one to speak out about the problem. Eventually they cast me out for speaking heresy. I tried to teach those people that the beauty in life is in the imperfections and that happiness is not attempting to make things perfect, but accepting the things you can’t change and being okay with that. But not a one listened to my words, it’s often that those who try to change the discourse are labeled at insane traitors. I knew my actions would lead to my exile but I had grown tired of the endless pursuit for something better, when life was already beautiful. And now here we are, I am exiled to this mountain top to preserve the past and the wisdoms life has taught me, and every day I look out over Utopia and see the ill effects of their duplicity and obsession. Everyone lying to one another, children forced to improve and perfect. And endless cavalcade of new surgeries to perfect the body and mind, they seek to achieve a goal that will never be reached. The grass is always greener, and you can only give chase for so long before your body withers and your mind is exhausted.” The man’s words trailed off, his age made him tire in the most trivial of actions, and his rant had drained his energy reserves. The girl looked into the old man’s eyes.
“What can we do?” concern permeated her voice. It was clear the old man had captured the young girls inspiration.
“We, I am afraid nothing in that context, but you… you can always make a change.” The old man was growing even shorter of breath. He paused between words even longer than before.
“How, I am just a teenager. One teenager! How could I change anything of importance.”
“What you do with your life, may change what other people do with theirs. And like ripples in a water, in time you can affect the entire lake. I think I am going to nap for a short while, I am sorry. I wish you the best Amy.” The old man closed his eyes breathing deeply to relax his body. Amy stood up and began her journey back down the hillside toward her home. All the while the old man watched thinking of the ripple he just created and in that thought he finally found peace with which to rest.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
A Walk In Time
A loving embrace of hands, a connection made thousands of times before, but this one was just a little more significant. The wrinkly hands damaged by sun and time held a strong embrace as the couple strolled through the summertime scene. Their surroundings where of no concern to them as they shared mutual experiences of years since past. laughing at some memories and sharing a collective silence for others. so much had brought them to this point on the calender. Sixty years between their first meeting and this exact moment. so many things had gone wrong and so many right, to lead them to this moment. the old lady with shining silver in her hair drew her partner closer.
"So many years, so many memories." her soft lips uttered the nostalgia of the moment. the old man turned to catch her gaze.
"It wasn't easy for me to get here ya know?" a playful smile chased his comment.
"I just had to know that you where the one, i couldn't just give my love away for free." and her playful smile matched his. the old man recollected all that it took to get him to this point with her. all the fights, all the heartbreak, all the emotions and all the moments their relationship was almost dashed to bits. the man came to one conclusion on his retrospective glance back at time... it was all worth the while. The man spilled the confession of his love, just as he ad for the first time all those years ago, "I fucking love you Ava Elizabeth Robertson"
"So many years, so many memories." her soft lips uttered the nostalgia of the moment. the old man turned to catch her gaze.
"It wasn't easy for me to get here ya know?" a playful smile chased his comment.
"I just had to know that you where the one, i couldn't just give my love away for free." and her playful smile matched his. the old man recollected all that it took to get him to this point with her. all the fights, all the heartbreak, all the emotions and all the moments their relationship was almost dashed to bits. the man came to one conclusion on his retrospective glance back at time... it was all worth the while. The man spilled the confession of his love, just as he ad for the first time all those years ago, "I fucking love you Ava Elizabeth Robertson"
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Twilights First and Last Dance
Poetic ghosts of familiar personalities find their way to the dance floor, etching seems and wrinkles in time. Capsulating a life time of experience in the blink of a moment. All that was plays out for one teary set of eyes. The gentle hum of music plays out an emotional rollercoaster, crashing into tears and rising into smiles. Father time relaxes in the moment relishing in his uselessness. The creator takes created by the hand, introducing young eyes to the true beauty of existence.
Monday, October 24, 2011
The End
The End
The city was alive with panic. It was almost humors to me in the darkest sense of the word. Removing the stability, the routine, the false sense of safety we all believed in. removal cause complete and utter chaos, Social anarchy. We were all going to die regardless. The sirens where just a useless warning of our impeding trip to the grave. We couldn’t escape the blast radius. Not with how little time we had, but that didn’t stop the hordes of people from flooding the streets in a desperate attempt to escape the urban jungle. Literally clawing over top one another like animals. No regard for anyone other than their own blood. Which was again humorous for we all have the same blood. Yet we make distinctions. Caring more for our own families than other people, justifiable selfishness.
Few religious devote praying in the streets, pleading with their gods for salvation. But god didn’t cause this tragedy.it was man with all his science and knowledge man chose to destroy itself. The few at the top decided obliterating each other was more important than losing their power. They blamed the possible evil of foreign powers to justify acting evilly themselves, and their flawed logic was to be the end of us all.
Sitting atop the skyscraper ensure me a front row seat to the carnage. But it wasn’t the carnage I came to see. It was life, because in those final moments I could see what everyone had lived for. Those praying to god had lived for religion. Desperately trying to appease the divine forces so that they may be granted life after death. Those trying to save their own kin amongst the chaos had lived for their family, so that their lineage would be carried on. Those desperately trying to flee to safety alone lived in fear of death. Doing everything they could to escape it. Those who decided one last act of intoxication or sexual acts was the best way to go out, they lived for pleasure so that their memories would live on joyously in their mind. And me? I lived for nothing, so death has nothing to take.
I was simply a watcher. My life’s purpose was examination. Silently watching, calculating, seeking to understand humanity and life in its purest form, and I got exactly what I wanted. The rawest display of why people live. Only the fleeting moments of life and the introduction of death could craft such a pure cinematic. The splitting of an insignificant atom would incinerate us all, and everything we lived for with it. Only ashy silhouettes would remain.
The city was alive with panic. It was almost humors to me in the darkest sense of the word. Removing the stability, the routine, the false sense of safety we all believed in. removal cause complete and utter chaos, Social anarchy. We were all going to die regardless. The sirens where just a useless warning of our impeding trip to the grave. We couldn’t escape the blast radius. Not with how little time we had, but that didn’t stop the hordes of people from flooding the streets in a desperate attempt to escape the urban jungle. Literally clawing over top one another like animals. No regard for anyone other than their own blood. Which was again humorous for we all have the same blood. Yet we make distinctions. Caring more for our own families than other people, justifiable selfishness.
Few religious devote praying in the streets, pleading with their gods for salvation. But god didn’t cause this tragedy.it was man with all his science and knowledge man chose to destroy itself. The few at the top decided obliterating each other was more important than losing their power. They blamed the possible evil of foreign powers to justify acting evilly themselves, and their flawed logic was to be the end of us all.
Sitting atop the skyscraper ensure me a front row seat to the carnage. But it wasn’t the carnage I came to see. It was life, because in those final moments I could see what everyone had lived for. Those praying to god had lived for religion. Desperately trying to appease the divine forces so that they may be granted life after death. Those trying to save their own kin amongst the chaos had lived for their family, so that their lineage would be carried on. Those desperately trying to flee to safety alone lived in fear of death. Doing everything they could to escape it. Those who decided one last act of intoxication or sexual acts was the best way to go out, they lived for pleasure so that their memories would live on joyously in their mind. And me? I lived for nothing, so death has nothing to take.
I was simply a watcher. My life’s purpose was examination. Silently watching, calculating, seeking to understand humanity and life in its purest form, and I got exactly what I wanted. The rawest display of why people live. Only the fleeting moments of life and the introduction of death could craft such a pure cinematic. The splitting of an insignificant atom would incinerate us all, and everything we lived for with it. Only ashy silhouettes would remain.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Another Poem
Evolving and revolving the earth twirls amongst the stars
Faster and faster as it falls apart at the seems
Decaying, Destroying
Falling and Failing
Giving birth to new generations, into the pollutions of the last
Each year the creature claws at control
Hate filled eyes that plot and scheme
Evil war machines their gears begin to turn
The violence no longer dormant the creature digs its claws deeper and earth bleeds
The master puppeteer cries on his creation
Shimmering strings of salvation, ignored in shrouded darkness
The creature tightens the vice grip. Choking the life from earth
The puppeteer watches the helpless masses suffer in agony, as the creature sinks his venomous fangs deeper into the soul.
(Explanation: picture the earth suspended in air as the years pass its starts to weaken and decay. Generation of people born into the problems left by the last. Satan is the creature and sees this as his opportunity. He starts clawing his way up from the bottom of earth, Taking control of the planet with war, violence and hatred. God is the master puppeteer, he is crying for humanity a top the world. He lowers the strings of salvation, but no one takes notice of them. They are too blinded by ignorance, hatred and fear. I am not deeply religious but I was in class and I pictured this scene so I decided to try to capture it with a poem.)
Faster and faster as it falls apart at the seems
Decaying, Destroying
Falling and Failing
Giving birth to new generations, into the pollutions of the last
Each year the creature claws at control
Hate filled eyes that plot and scheme
Evil war machines their gears begin to turn
The violence no longer dormant the creature digs its claws deeper and earth bleeds
The master puppeteer cries on his creation
Shimmering strings of salvation, ignored in shrouded darkness
The creature tightens the vice grip. Choking the life from earth
The puppeteer watches the helpless masses suffer in agony, as the creature sinks his venomous fangs deeper into the soul.
(Explanation: picture the earth suspended in air as the years pass its starts to weaken and decay. Generation of people born into the problems left by the last. Satan is the creature and sees this as his opportunity. He starts clawing his way up from the bottom of earth, Taking control of the planet with war, violence and hatred. God is the master puppeteer, he is crying for humanity a top the world. He lowers the strings of salvation, but no one takes notice of them. They are too blinded by ignorance, hatred and fear. I am not deeply religious but I was in class and I pictured this scene so I decided to try to capture it with a poem.)
Monday, October 3, 2011
Apartments
Shouts of anger seeped through the ceiling, something Will Arnet was all too accustom to. He pictured the scene as the words played out the drama. The mother would take out her frustrations, yielding them as a weapon just to watch someone else bleed like her. The daughter was helpless, always drawn into the trap like a fly to a web. It was easy to break down the blossoming teen, it was easy to make her bleed the emotions her mother held inside, and the mother wouldn’t stop till the crimson liquid splattered back in her face so she could see someone else the way she saw herself, broken and hurt.
Will left the moans of human emotion behind, locking his apartment door behind him. His nightly journey was underway. His ears and eyes had collected years of information on what laid behind each numbered door. He had heard and seen the secrets of countless doors, they were just numbered doors to him he held no empathetic emotions for anyone of them. They were like his test subjects, testing the various outcomes of hundreds of life decisions. Each number held the possible person Will himself could have been had he led a similar life. The laughter from apartment 32 b very well could have been his own, at one point in time it was. He once sat upon that couch with number 32b and giggled himself in a similar fashion. The marijuana vapors practically spewing under the door way and spilling out into the hall. What a pathetic life 32b led, constantly escaping the responsibility, dashing off to inhale the smoke, and then mentally disappearing from reality for hours. Staring mouth a gape as the comical scenes flickered across the screen and out into the dim lit room. Will had quit that habit, 32b was not his life. Not anymore. Reality was a prison sentence Will intended to live out without the escapism.
Will’s feet kicked the carpet as he strolled down several floors on his footstep adventure he passed 24a. Her beauty to this day stirred his heart. She gave her best attempt to awkwardly avoid the eye contact. Will understood the signal. 24a had her next conquest by her side, another man the same man will had been months ago. She would use this man to feel alive, sucking at the powerful emotions of life coursing through his veins. Like a parasite she would suck him for all the cheap pleasures she could. Before leaving him in her wake, with all the other shriveled corpses of her previous sexual exploits. Will had no pitty for her, even though she was the product of her own environment. What chance did 24a have in the world? Growing up around models and actresses, but never quite good enough for herself. Constantly chasing after superficial beauties, when the chase became too much for her lungs to take she turned to other forms of validation. Yet will still had no pity for the error of her ways.
Will sparked the ember at the tip of his cancer stick. Taking in the smoke on the stoop of his apartment complex, his eyes search the night for anything to examine. Something to analyze and keep his mind preoccupied. The strum of a guitar caught his ears. The music notes floated from 3a’s window, dissipating in the night air just like the smoke from will's cigarette. The sounds of a struggling artist. Will laughed to himself. Artist was at term a grown man called himself to avoid the reality of being a failure. At some point one has to distinguish the line between hobbies and profit generating endeavors. Even the most talented people have to get a real job and become a productive member of society. At least that’s the way Will saw it, but 3a would strum away every penny his parents sent him. So long as they paid the bills his life style would be possible. Will thought it was pathetic.
Will’s lungs had inhaled their share of ash; he ducked away back into the warmth of the apartments many hall ways. The warmth wrapped will in a blanket a sensation he paid no attention to. He lacked the capacity to feel. Will made his way to the apartment complexes roof, from here he could see all he wished too. Will very much enjoyed his roof top gazing time. It was always time well spent. From the roof will could see his cleverly titled room 1c. 1c wasn’t a room because the person that lived in 1c was the homeless man that spent his nights in the back alley of the apartment complex. Will peered over the edge of the roof, looking down on the man, sort of like an angel. Will could only imagine 1c’s story for he had never actually meet the man. Will gave 1c the benefit of the doubt when crafting his story. Will assumed 1c had been a business man, a very successful one, but when the Misses found out about his secretarial affair she left with half. Then the stock market hit the rocks, along with 1c’s other half. Leaving him broke and emotional vacant. 1c could have had the life, had he not stooped to the thinking of his other head. His sexual perversion had been his downfall. He could have weathered the storm had his wife not left him just the year prior.
Will had one last stop on his journey; his feet methodically chased after each other one in front of the other. Will’s mind began to wander with his feet, of all his test subjects Will would have taken any of their lives. They all had their flaws, they all seemed beneath him but they actually lived. Something Will had never taken the chance to do. To avoid ever slipping up, to ever stoop to the level of his subjects, Will had avoid life itself. Playing it safe, so safe he had become more of a spectator of his life, and sometimes Will wished he would have just taken the chance, and lived for once. Will’s feet came to rest at room 33b; Will knew the story behind this door. A young man had once lived here. He was mid to late twenties. He kept to himself; he hardly talked to anyone, never disturbed anyone. His only interaction with anyone in the entire complex was with of course 24a. 33b took his own life a few months back. Slit his wrists in the silence of the night. His blood pooled in the bathtub with the shower quietly running. Almost like he had the foresight to save someone the mess of his own suicide. It was about a week before the smell started to bring attention to 33b’s remains. It was sad even to Will, that not only had no one noticed 33b’s passing, no one showed up to collect his things either. So confined by his own solitude, that it finally choked the life out of him. Will’s nightly journey was finally over, he turned the knob and quietly slid into room 33b, his final resting place.
Will left the moans of human emotion behind, locking his apartment door behind him. His nightly journey was underway. His ears and eyes had collected years of information on what laid behind each numbered door. He had heard and seen the secrets of countless doors, they were just numbered doors to him he held no empathetic emotions for anyone of them. They were like his test subjects, testing the various outcomes of hundreds of life decisions. Each number held the possible person Will himself could have been had he led a similar life. The laughter from apartment 32 b very well could have been his own, at one point in time it was. He once sat upon that couch with number 32b and giggled himself in a similar fashion. The marijuana vapors practically spewing under the door way and spilling out into the hall. What a pathetic life 32b led, constantly escaping the responsibility, dashing off to inhale the smoke, and then mentally disappearing from reality for hours. Staring mouth a gape as the comical scenes flickered across the screen and out into the dim lit room. Will had quit that habit, 32b was not his life. Not anymore. Reality was a prison sentence Will intended to live out without the escapism.
Will’s feet kicked the carpet as he strolled down several floors on his footstep adventure he passed 24a. Her beauty to this day stirred his heart. She gave her best attempt to awkwardly avoid the eye contact. Will understood the signal. 24a had her next conquest by her side, another man the same man will had been months ago. She would use this man to feel alive, sucking at the powerful emotions of life coursing through his veins. Like a parasite she would suck him for all the cheap pleasures she could. Before leaving him in her wake, with all the other shriveled corpses of her previous sexual exploits. Will had no pitty for her, even though she was the product of her own environment. What chance did 24a have in the world? Growing up around models and actresses, but never quite good enough for herself. Constantly chasing after superficial beauties, when the chase became too much for her lungs to take she turned to other forms of validation. Yet will still had no pity for the error of her ways.
Will sparked the ember at the tip of his cancer stick. Taking in the smoke on the stoop of his apartment complex, his eyes search the night for anything to examine. Something to analyze and keep his mind preoccupied. The strum of a guitar caught his ears. The music notes floated from 3a’s window, dissipating in the night air just like the smoke from will's cigarette. The sounds of a struggling artist. Will laughed to himself. Artist was at term a grown man called himself to avoid the reality of being a failure. At some point one has to distinguish the line between hobbies and profit generating endeavors. Even the most talented people have to get a real job and become a productive member of society. At least that’s the way Will saw it, but 3a would strum away every penny his parents sent him. So long as they paid the bills his life style would be possible. Will thought it was pathetic.
Will’s lungs had inhaled their share of ash; he ducked away back into the warmth of the apartments many hall ways. The warmth wrapped will in a blanket a sensation he paid no attention to. He lacked the capacity to feel. Will made his way to the apartment complexes roof, from here he could see all he wished too. Will very much enjoyed his roof top gazing time. It was always time well spent. From the roof will could see his cleverly titled room 1c. 1c wasn’t a room because the person that lived in 1c was the homeless man that spent his nights in the back alley of the apartment complex. Will peered over the edge of the roof, looking down on the man, sort of like an angel. Will could only imagine 1c’s story for he had never actually meet the man. Will gave 1c the benefit of the doubt when crafting his story. Will assumed 1c had been a business man, a very successful one, but when the Misses found out about his secretarial affair she left with half. Then the stock market hit the rocks, along with 1c’s other half. Leaving him broke and emotional vacant. 1c could have had the life, had he not stooped to the thinking of his other head. His sexual perversion had been his downfall. He could have weathered the storm had his wife not left him just the year prior.
Will had one last stop on his journey; his feet methodically chased after each other one in front of the other. Will’s mind began to wander with his feet, of all his test subjects Will would have taken any of their lives. They all had their flaws, they all seemed beneath him but they actually lived. Something Will had never taken the chance to do. To avoid ever slipping up, to ever stoop to the level of his subjects, Will had avoid life itself. Playing it safe, so safe he had become more of a spectator of his life, and sometimes Will wished he would have just taken the chance, and lived for once. Will’s feet came to rest at room 33b; Will knew the story behind this door. A young man had once lived here. He was mid to late twenties. He kept to himself; he hardly talked to anyone, never disturbed anyone. His only interaction with anyone in the entire complex was with of course 24a. 33b took his own life a few months back. Slit his wrists in the silence of the night. His blood pooled in the bathtub with the shower quietly running. Almost like he had the foresight to save someone the mess of his own suicide. It was about a week before the smell started to bring attention to 33b’s remains. It was sad even to Will, that not only had no one noticed 33b’s passing, no one showed up to collect his things either. So confined by his own solitude, that it finally choked the life out of him. Will’s nightly journey was finally over, he turned the knob and quietly slid into room 33b, his final resting place.
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