Untangling the cables on the top of his head on one specific morning, just after brushing his teeth, and after getting out of bed, but necessarily before having his first bite of toast, our main friend described only in type had felt his soul gain a few hundred pounds. It was this sort of heaviness that made him breathe hard, and speak with the same amount of words as dollar bills he had in his wallet. Just so you know, he had only a few. With his clean teeth, and combed hair, he was presentable for his toast. It was the only thing he could get inside his stomach. Light and tasteless. The cables he tried to untangle that morning, weren't only the threads of hair attached to his scalp. His life also ran tangled throughout his head. He didn't have the same luck he did with his hair. Hair untangles far too easily in comparison. He tried not to think. Chew, swallow, drink, and repeat where the only commands that passed unfiltered through his body.
Almost as comatose as him, was his pet dog. Crazy little fella. He only had tangled hair. His life seemed quite easy. He woke up and protected his master faithfully, from the comfort of his makeshift dog-bed. Both of them were clueless as to how the world would end. Only one of them was clueless of how the day would end( hint: it's not the dog).
The day ends with three words, three syllables, two pronouns and a verb. Funnily enough, it used to begin with the same structure.
A universe dies collapsing on itself, while another one is recreated in misery. A little more on that later. We'll just follow out friend to work for a little while.
His soul felt heavy, but his body felt as light as a feather. His car seemed to speed up faster just because of this new super-power of lightness. He drowned what would become thoughts in an instant of chemical materialization with music. He would lyrically speak his mind through the words of other poets. His ideas, in that half hour trip, were those of his gurus. He abandoned all original thought.
Modern technology made the destruction and creation of the universe possible. His cellphone vibrated on top of the passenger seat. It was an armed high-power explosive device. In it you could find the equivalent nuclear weapon yield of something that could blow souls to other parts of the universe. The bullshit music that blasted through the speakers didn't just drown his thoughts.
Our friend, an average 5'10.5" had average intelligence quotient, average dick size, although scruffy looking, also had an average haircut. He always thought he was meant for something big, but he was just average all over. He was just another building block that provided a service to all the other average building blocks. He knew none to little that he would have a great responsibility bestowed upon him as soon as he noticed the flashing screen of his cellphone. Half-way done through "I'm Blue" by The Shangri-La's, his apathy turns to sadness. The toast made it's way easily to his intestine, leaving his stomach completely empty. His body, almost expressionless is feeling the pressure his soul is exerting on it. It wants to give up. The cellphone caught his glance. The red LED did what every woman with a red dress ever did to other men who trusted them; lure them in and leave their meat to the wolves. Dillinger had experienced this fate already when Anna Sage ratted him out to the cops. Just like John Dillinger, our friend fell in the snare. It was a message. The kind like this one you are reading. In type, in English, and exactly 3 words. It set off the infinite megaton power it held. It dismantled every single molecule in ground zero, creating a chain reaction of chaos. His soul was blasted elsewhere, the thread that hung it to its corresponding body snapped. Momentum. He was lo longer alive.
Almost as comatose as him, was his pet dog. Crazy little fella. He only had tangled hair. His life seemed quite easy. He woke up and protected his master faithfully, from the comfort of his makeshift dog-bed. Both of them were clueless as to how the world would end. Only one of them was clueless of how the day would end( hint: it's not the dog).
The day ends with three words, three syllables, two pronouns and a verb. Funnily enough, it used to begin with the same structure.
A universe dies collapsing on itself, while another one is recreated in misery. A little more on that later. We'll just follow out friend to work for a little while.
His soul felt heavy, but his body felt as light as a feather. His car seemed to speed up faster just because of this new super-power of lightness. He drowned what would become thoughts in an instant of chemical materialization with music. He would lyrically speak his mind through the words of other poets. His ideas, in that half hour trip, were those of his gurus. He abandoned all original thought.
Modern technology made the destruction and creation of the universe possible. His cellphone vibrated on top of the passenger seat. It was an armed high-power explosive device. In it you could find the equivalent nuclear weapon yield of something that could blow souls to other parts of the universe. The bullshit music that blasted through the speakers didn't just drown his thoughts.
Our friend, an average 5'10.5" had average intelligence quotient, average dick size, although scruffy looking, also had an average haircut. He always thought he was meant for something big, but he was just average all over. He was just another building block that provided a service to all the other average building blocks. He knew none to little that he would have a great responsibility bestowed upon him as soon as he noticed the flashing screen of his cellphone. Half-way done through "I'm Blue" by The Shangri-La's, his apathy turns to sadness. The toast made it's way easily to his intestine, leaving his stomach completely empty. His body, almost expressionless is feeling the pressure his soul is exerting on it. It wants to give up. The cellphone caught his glance. The red LED did what every woman with a red dress ever did to other men who trusted them; lure them in and leave their meat to the wolves. Dillinger had experienced this fate already when Anna Sage ratted him out to the cops. Just like John Dillinger, our friend fell in the snare. It was a message. The kind like this one you are reading. In type, in English, and exactly 3 words. It set off the infinite megaton power it held. It dismantled every single molecule in ground zero, creating a chain reaction of chaos. His soul was blasted elsewhere, the thread that hung it to its corresponding body snapped. Momentum. He was lo longer alive.
(0) Comments