At 4 AM, a bus full of people seems a bit odd for many of you, but where I live, there are always people going somewhere or anywhere at any given time.
There is a serene melody I always get from riding the public buses. An empty and desolate resonance of my heart with the city as I look out the window to the moving streets, under the warm dark curtain of Spring. To be honest, I never expected to be out this late today... or early for that matter, however you choose to look at it, it is not a usual time for people to catch a bus ride.
A couple of hours ago I received messages from a few friends. At that time, I was laying on my bed thinking about how heroes are born or destroyed. Pondering the fragility of nobility and harshness of reality. What my footnote could say about my life on this earth? Would I even get the chance to get an addendum in our World history? You know... typical thoughts from the unfulfilled, undesirable modern man.
"Hey!!! We are at Adrian's party... JUST COME HERE DIPSHIT", was the message I got from one of my friends. In fact, all other subsequent messages I received up until the point I decided to respond were from the same template. Sometimes, if not often, I wonder why I let people get close to me. Is not that I despise them or abhor the canonical ideology that everyone needs someone to live in this world. But I do find myself muttering loathsome words all throughout my encounters, before and after, with them. I seem to be a bit emotionally irrational on my end, as I can never hide my face of disgust when we always enter in the never-ending cycle of boredom. We hang, we drink, we dance, we fight and ultimately, we drink some more to make up. Basically, a complete waste of life. During those moments I only wish I could go back home. To my bed. To my books.
I finally arrive at the party. Greet everyone with the same kiss on the cheek as every other day. Nothing special in our greetings... Particularly, because neither of us are that special to begin with. Just a lump of hacks breathing the same oxygen as any other animal roaring through the planet. Well, at least the animals live their lives as it is intended. Humanity is overrated.
I open a small pack of cigarettes laying to my right side on the table. Take out the last one from the box and set it between my right-hand fingers, as I hook the lighter in my left pocket. I take out the lighter and decide to test the flame size before igniting the cigarette. My left thumb quickly presses and pressures the spark wheel downwards to set ignition to a flame. A rightly violent, big blaze had presented itself; unruly as the night breeze made it burst a wild dance overwhelming the small protective metallic hood. I released my thumb, killing the rhythm and thus the bright dancer died. And as I set the lighter to play a different tune for a new glow to appear, I look up to the clear spring night above me, puff the pleasurable, toxic incense into my body.
And couldn't help but notice how monotonous it was to kill myself.
