Just A Matter Of Time

The sun goes down on us, and the moon rises up, I hear Adams and Washington coming home. I exit, getting ready for dinner.

"How was everyone's day?" Asks Adams, sarcastically happy. Something must've happened at work today.

"Mine was quite alright Mr. Adams," I answer back.

Alexander enters the apartment, and sits down, obviously, dramatically exhausted. "Mine was a pile of shit. Yours, Adams?"

"Mine was--decent, Hamilton."

I knew it was a lie, but I didn't say anything.

Madison is muttering in the corner, in pain, "No one helps me... I am dying slowly... in the hands of them..."

"What do you mean, Madison?" Franklin asks from looking at his computer.

"Dying slowly... in the hands of them..." Madison repeats.

"You're dying slowly in the hands of whom?" Franklin asks.

"Kidnapper... kidnapper... KIDNAPPER!"

Madison is done with us not understanding him. Franklin calms Madison down with, "You want ice cream?"

"Ice cream?!" Madison bounces excitedly.

"Very well... ice cream for Madison... what do the rest of you crave for?" Adams asks.

"Many things Adams, be more specific," says Franklin with a grin.

"What?" Adams apparently doesn't get it.

"Nothing. Just anything you want to make." Franklin says, losing his grin.

"Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. We're trapped..fly trapped in honey--" Madison is muttering again.

I ignore Madison, and say what I'd like, and it's macaroni and cheese. What I invented, a while ago... The rest of them are quite easy with what they want to eat.

Adams serves Madison the ice cream first, to calm him down.

Madison happily takes the bowl of ice cream. Like nothing has happened recently.

I sit, waiting for my macaroni, and playing my guitar. Madison is listening to me play it. The others are just acting like they're not listening, but I knew they some what were listening.

We sit and eat our dinners as Adams is cleaning up the kitchen, he usually eats long after we're finished. I don't understand why that is, but it is. I laugh at how I worded that in my mind, and I go back to my room, writing a song.

'You know me well. But I know I don't belong here... I've traveled through time, just to make my song clear...' I stop for a moment, and I look at my guitar. I pick it up from laying by my bed. I play the notes to the song I'm thinking of.

'...I was America's third most recognizable face...' I think to myself, '...but now I'm one in seven-million don't it terrifies me!'

I write those lyrics down.

'...by the nickel--by the dime...it's a mountain I will climb--it's just a matter of time!'

I smile, I'm building a song! I think, excitedly, as I write those other lyrics down. I stare at my guitar. "I wish it were a violin... but this is better than nothing..." I say to myself. "Just a matter of time... I like that--for a title."

It's Just A Matter Of Time...

I write...Just a Matter of Time...