Tales of the Lost & Forgotten

You Wither, You Die

* A/N : This is just a little peice I wrote for my Writing class I'm taking, my teacher said that she wanted us to write somethng short. That came from expierence and our own emotion. A piece that is strong and gets the emotion across, the general idea trying to be told. I'd like your guy's comments on it since I have to hand it in on Mondays after school  class. If she deems it good enough she'll take  it to the Graphics Art's class to  be made into a short film.

The days are starting to feel the same once again, its starting to feel like one big looming cloud of gray. It’s the city life I say, the smell constant exhaust of clogged old beaters is almost sickening to the gut. The only thing keeping me sane and grounded is the constant cigarettes and coffee, fuelling me just so I can get through another chaotic day. I gave up hiding and complaining a long time ago, after realising that people don’t give a damn what you have to say. Their all in a rush, all having to go somewhere, be somewhere on time, it’s a movement of human bodies. Nobody has time for anything anymore, no time to sleep, no time to eat, no time to do anything. Their days are filled with distractions, worries, jobs, and pointless shit.

It’s a world of rot, at least through my eyes.

Like one big ball of black cancerous tar, that will just keep on vesturing and bubbling… until one day the cancerous tar ball with rot and wither away.

I’m sick you know? Sick of it all, sick of the people, the games, the constant change. Maybe I’m just old, maybe I’m tired. I feel old, I shouldn’t feel this way since I only just turned 24 as of… one hour ago.

My eyes scan over the old brown battered radio, sitting on the black makeshift desk in the far corner, the time blinks in ugly red numbers at me, almost screaming. 3:45 AM!, 3:45 AM!, 3:45 AM!

I scoff at the clock as if it was just another silly person and go back to staring down below at the city from my thirty-four balcony view. That’s another thing that bugs me, time.

I bring the smoke up to my lips inhaling the fumes, letting it roll down my tongue than back out my mouth in a lazy fog. An icy October chill comes up from below covering my naked torso in a skin of fleshy goose bumps. I savour the chill for the last time and take another step forward, resting my bare cold feet on the rusted copper railing made to stop people from falling. I take another drag, but this time I savour the stale taste of tobacco.

Another chill comes up, this time it moves my hair to the side a bit, tickling my scalp with coldness. I inhale deeply and lean forward until my stomach is in contact with the cold bar and I’m left with the beautiful view of the corrupted streets below. I close my eyes and open my ears, I mean really open my ears to the sounds of the world around me. I hear it then, the little tick, tick, tick of peoples numbers below slowly counting down to their deaths. I hear it all, the world who’s to busy to notice that anytime, any second their life’s will end. Just like that, they will eventually wither away like dust and be lost in the wind.

I take a second and look back into the dingy old apartment at the clock in the corner. Its mimicking me I tell you, its blinking louder this time, yelling so loud my head is filled with the sound of buzzing.

3:55 AM!, 3:55 AM!, 3:55 AM!

I hate time, I really do, there is never enough time. You never have time to do anything. You’re always doing something, you’re never looking at what’s really around you, you’re never wanting to listen. You only want to hear the sound of your own voice.

I stifle a laugh that wants so badly to erupt and rip from my chest because It’s all bogus, it’s a lie I tell you. Its made to trick you into thinking your doing everything right, its tricking you into thinking you’re doing the thing you love, or the thing that makes you have comfort in. It’s the trickster that got into your head since the first day you were born.

It’s blocking the bigger picture that so many falter to see, that as your running about doing the things you do. Your clock is counting down this very minute, some faster than others. You just don’t realize it, no body every realizes it. Their all just simply existing and not living.

I take the last drag right down to the flitter and flick the butt over the ledge watching it fly down until I can’t see it no more. I place both hands on the railings and extended all my weight forward, until all I had to do was kick my feet up and I’d be flying overboard.

Time, it’s bogus I tell you.

I don’t even have to take another look at the clock behind me because I know my times up. I can see the ugly red numbers blinking behind my eyes, the buzzing in my head is so loud I can’t hear anything anymore.

I’m blinded by the pounding of blood ripping through my head 100 miles a second.

I can’t take the constant flash of red screaming at me over and over again…

0:00!, 0:00!, 0:00!

I kick my feet up and I’m flying.

Time, I really hate time. There is never enough time.