(I posted something earlier and realized that my feelings toward the piece have changed)
- Is there something wrong with me?
- Why do you ask that?
- I want to know.
- In what sense? No, I don't think there's anything wrong with you.
- I don't know. I just feel off.
He stared up from his phone at the clock on the oven, reading this conversation over again with different tones and trying to figure out every bit of ambiguity until it feels right, correct. His cheeks vibrate, his eyes water, his pupils dialate and shift: he is alone. He is the one thing he has tried to avoid.
He screams. Loud enough for him to feel some sort of relief, yet soft enough not to wake the neighbours. No one will talk to him and the only conversation he willed to carry on was at a standstill with no promise to pick up again.
- So, what's up?
He leaves his phone on the table, turns on the tv and decides to come back to it after a while of entertainment. Basking in the loneliness of a cold Fall's night with his eyes fixated on the floor, he succombs to his moment of weakness and jumps from the couch to rush to his phone.
Nothing.
"How fitting," he thought. He had nothing to say and nothing to do, yet wanted comfort from someone who equally has nothing to say and nothing to do to comfort.
One more time. Just to be sure...
- Have you seen My Best Friend's Girl? It's suprisingly funny.
He roamed his home with his phone kept tight in his hand. He could've written to other people to keep him company until he became tired enough for sleep to be a necessity, but he didn't. (There's another level to this, isn't there?)
Half an hour has gone passed and he is still throwing himself from the top of the staircase. Each fall cracks a bone, bruises a leg, but nothing fatal or harmful enough to do any damage.
It's exhausting and he decides to sleep, hoping for replies in the morning, but knows full well that the replies only mattered for that night.
A clean slate in the morning. He remembers nothing.
A clean execution.
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2 comments:
Yay prose form!! I like this. Very much.
"He is the one thing he has tried to avoid." I don't know why, but this line just struck me and resonated with me a lot.
Also liked "He had nothing to say and nothing to do, yet wanted comfort from someone who equally has nothing to say and nothing to do to comfort." because it's so true. We want to be with someone, but everyone feels the same so it's just...useless. But we can't help but look for this comfort anyway.
I think the passive mention of him throwing himself off the staircase works well. It's just so...just thrown in there. And then he gets tired. And goes to sleep. Just like that. It's so out of the blue and yet so horrifying that it's very striking.
"hoping for replies in the morning, but knows full well that the replies only mattered for that night.
A clean slate in the morning. He remembers nothing.
A clean execution."
The end was awesome. Like I said - even in prose form, you are the shit at writing endings :P
Way to steal. Um. Everything? Jeez Marta Barnes.
I....
*sigh*
well I like this <3
And I recall the line 'A Clean Execution'
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