E.N
He looks out of the green stained glass windows that fill the right wall of his apartment. Perhaps today is the day. Perhaps not. Perhaps everything he has done to prepare for today will be for nothing. Perhaps it is tomorrow. Perhaps it's in 17 days. Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps. The word feels funny in his mouth, like when you say 'been' or 'Pocohauntas' over and over until they don't sound like words anymore. Now those words are just vowels and consenants that someone threw together a long time ago. Now those words are void. Perhaps today will be void too.
Another word that has the same effect is although. Although, you never really think about the word although until you're watching Judge Judy and every argument the defendant makes starts with although. Although, he really likes watching Judge Judy. Yes he; the man staring out of his green stained glass windows. He who no longer has a name nor origin- only a story. A legend. A myth. A plan. A plan which might come in to fruition today. Maybe today also has no name nor origin. Maybe today is only a story, a myth, a legend.
Think about it this way; who tells us things? Teachers. Who tells them? The Department of Education. Who tells them? The Government. The Government controls all, any and everything. Usually, he doesn't consider himself a conspiracist, but this is a special case. They control everything and we, the bottom feeders, are forced to sit at the bottom of the ocean and suckle on coral and sadness for our lifetime. But someday, someone will free them. He will free them.
He who rolls around the word 'perhaps' in his mouth like a peppermint candy, he who screams 'although' until the sound makes him ill, he who stares out of the green stained glass windows.
Perhaps today is the day. Maybe today is void.
O.C
He, not the same he, sits alone in a dimly let dining room at a 10 person table. Rain cascades down onto the roof of his too-big house, making the comic book like 'pitter patter' as each drop hits the tin roof. Is that the meaning on onomatopoeia? He can't remember. He hasn't had time to read a dictionary over the span of his life. He supposes you don't need to read a dictionary though, that's why man built schools. But his schooling career was interrupted to soon by chaos and devastation- both of which are yet to leave.
Everything stays right where you left it- a phrase meant only for inanimate objects. People, for instance, have a tendency to do the complete opposite. The human race could stand still, but curiosity is a wave that crashes into the shore of your mind too hard and too fast to ignore. He'd like to stand still for once. For a short period of time, maybe the world would stop turning. Maybe for five sweet seconds he could feel free of his responsibility, regret and disarray.
Responsibility, regret, disarray.
No one told him that these words were the rules to the game. Then, he didn't ask to be part of the team. He was thrust into this and now it's the only thing he knows. He doesn't know trust, nor love, nor happiness. Only power and fame. Fame in the game.
He trusted someone once. It was only a short time ago, and the open wound on his heart reiterates the fact. He knows their separate ways were for the best, but best for who? Certainly not him. Not for he who dwells in the dimly lit dining room. No, he doesn't feel best. He only feels responsibility, regret and disarray.
He walks to the bookshelf to his left out a dictionary. He opens it to the letter O.
