A friend of mine recently sent me a bit of writing he did. I think its amazing. So i shall now post it. HUTTAH!
"And like the proverbial tree in the forest, she fell, with no one around to know. No one around to care. But I knew - because this wasnt just any old tree. This was the same girl I had seen on the bus every day. The girl I envied for her quiet assuagement of this world, that only I would find obvious. The same girl I didnt know, but knew everything about. After the piercing reverberations from the shot collapsed over the cold brick walls around us, I watched her usually safeguarded handbag fall to the ground. So slow.
Everything was slower now. Like some impatient TV surfer in training, playing with the viewing controls. God forbid this would be a television program - maybe just one of those subconscious reflections based on a TV show. Nope. This was too good to be some bullshit dream. I couldnt tell if it was the shot that impaired my hearing or that same asshole with the remote control, who unknowingly bashed away at the mute button, but I couldnt hear a thing. And believe me, I wanted to hear that final thud as she hit the floor. That was always the reassurance I was looking for. That last little thud would let me know right away if she was going to get back up or not.
Thats when the sinking started. The black formed around me, like it always did. It didnt startle me so much anymore. Like that sharp pain in your tooth from that cavity you just grow accustomed to over the years. The black crept around me as everything, while still on mute, moved slower and slower. I bit down and squinted my eyes, as if to prepare myself for a burst of white-hot light.
9:33 am. Woke up to find myself still wearing all my clothes. Laying in this fluorescent-lit room, with you two deadheads looming over me. Like a couple doctors examining their patient, but in place of smocks, cheap tweed suits. I dragged my tired heavy legs off the couch, and let out an obscure moan, reflective of my morning comatose-like state. The outmoded couch, resurrected from the set of some nineteen-seventies sitcom, had left an impression of its less than glamorous stitching pattern in the flesh of my arms. I sat up, trying to rub away at my newly decorated skin."
- Justin Ward
"And like the proverbial tree in the forest, she fell, with no one around to know. No one around to care. But I knew - because this wasnt just any old tree. This was the same girl I had seen on the bus every day. The girl I envied for her quiet assuagement of this world, that only I would find obvious. The same girl I didnt know, but knew everything about. After the piercing reverberations from the shot collapsed over the cold brick walls around us, I watched her usually safeguarded handbag fall to the ground. So slow.
Everything was slower now. Like some impatient TV surfer in training, playing with the viewing controls. God forbid this would be a television program - maybe just one of those subconscious reflections based on a TV show. Nope. This was too good to be some bullshit dream. I couldnt tell if it was the shot that impaired my hearing or that same asshole with the remote control, who unknowingly bashed away at the mute button, but I couldnt hear a thing. And believe me, I wanted to hear that final thud as she hit the floor. That was always the reassurance I was looking for. That last little thud would let me know right away if she was going to get back up or not.
Thats when the sinking started. The black formed around me, like it always did. It didnt startle me so much anymore. Like that sharp pain in your tooth from that cavity you just grow accustomed to over the years. The black crept around me as everything, while still on mute, moved slower and slower. I bit down and squinted my eyes, as if to prepare myself for a burst of white-hot light.
9:33 am. Woke up to find myself still wearing all my clothes. Laying in this fluorescent-lit room, with you two deadheads looming over me. Like a couple doctors examining their patient, but in place of smocks, cheap tweed suits. I dragged my tired heavy legs off the couch, and let out an obscure moan, reflective of my morning comatose-like state. The outmoded couch, resurrected from the set of some nineteen-seventies sitcom, had left an impression of its less than glamorous stitching pattern in the flesh of my arms. I sat up, trying to rub away at my newly decorated skin."
- Justin Ward
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
*get the fuck off my porch!*