First the colors.
Then the humans.
That's usually how I see things.
Or at least, how I try.
***HERE IS A SMALL FACT***
You are going to die.
I am in all truthfulness attempting to be cheerful about this whole topic, though most people find themselves hindered in believing me, no matter my protestations. Please, trust me. I most definitely can be cheerful. I can be amiable, agreeable, affable, and that's only the A's. Just don't ask me to be nice. Nice has nothing to do with me.
*** REACTION TO THE***
AFOREMENTIONED FACT
Does this worry you?
I urge you-- don't be afraid.
I'm nothing if not fair.
--Of course, an introduction.
A beginning.
Where are my manners?
I could introduce myself properly, but it's not really necessary. You will know me well enough and soon enough, depending on a diverse range of variables. It suffices to say that at some point in time, I will be standing over you(yes you reader), as genially as possible. Your soul will be in my arms. A color will be perched on my shoulder. I will carry you gently away. At that moment, you will be lying there (I rarely find people standing up). You will be caked in your own body. There might be a discovery, a scream will dribble down the air. The only sound I'll hear after that will be my own breathing, and the sound of my footsteps.
The question is, what color will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying? Personally, I like a chocolate-colored sky. Dark, dark chocolate. People say it suits me. I do, however, try to enjoy every color I see the whole spectrum. A billion or so flavors, none of them quite the same, and a sky to slowly suck on. It takes the edge off the stress. It helps me relax.
* * * A SMALL THEORY * * *
People observe the colors of a day only at it's beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shapes and intonations, with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spat blues, and Murky darknesses in my line of work, i make it a point to notice them.
As I've been alluding to, my one saving grace is distraction. It keeps me sane. It helps me cope, considering the length of time I've been performing this job. The trouble is, who could ever replace me? Who could step in while I take a break in your stock-standard resort-style vacation destination, whether it be tropical or the ski trip variety? The answer, of course, is nobody
ESTÁS LEYENDO
THE BOOk THIEf
Random"It's just a small story really, about a girl, some words, an accordionist, some fanatical Germans, a Jewish fist fighter, and quite a lot of thievery. . . .". (the story is not mine but it's by Markus Zusak i will give you information about him at...
