He was supposed to leave the apartment soon. There was nothing there left for him. He leaned against the bare white wall and felt the textured paint gently scratch his back.
Why is it they always feel the need to make these walls so complicated? A wall should just keep two things separate. I think heard once that it was called something like a "liminal object". Meaning, the wall doesn’t really belong to either room but just exists between both spaces. I don’t agree with the Japanese though. If you want your wall to separate things then don’t make it out of paper. Paper walls would be good for writing on but not for separating. I’m just trying to be honest.
The air conditioner kicked on and blew colder for some reason. He took it as his cue to leave. He kicked off the plain wall with his right foot to give himself an extra boost as he started walking. His limbs flailed about. It was as if he didn’t care where they ended up. His footsteps were especially noticeable. The whole weight of his leg would slam down flat and clap against the hardwood floor. He took his long stride outdoors. The night air was quite a bit warmer than his apartment. Although in the southwest that is to be expected. He looked as if be didn’t know why he felt the way he did. You could tell he just didn’t want to feel that way anymore. I'm sure he felt that feeling was overrated anyway. He didn’t feel bad about it either.
It's weird to think that when Van Gogh painted “Crows Over Cornfield” he had no idea that it would be the location of his death. And to be honest, I don’t like the vegans. Who could give one flying frog about animal rights? They don’t care about their own rights, so why should we? So yeah, they might have some sort of spirit and all but I think everything does, to an extent. So that cornfield had a spirit. Maybe that’s why Vincent was drawn there. Maybe that’s why he painted that particular path. Somehow the spirit of the field spoke to him and knew he would soon be lying their bleeding out from a self inflicted gunshot. Beautiful really. Oh, and I hate when people do that by the way. Shorten a celebrity's name. You don’t know them. Use their full name.
His steps echoed in the alley way that led towards the main street. The yellowed street lamps guided his uncontrolled steps. The nearby dumpsters gave off a horrible odor that he thought he could mask it if he tucked his nose into the collar of his shirt. He must have thought he looked like a ninja. He started imitating his favorite Mortal Kombat characters as he made it out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. He was moving forward while wildly punching and kicking at the air. There weren’t many people out for this time of night. There were quite a few luxury SUV’s on the road for some reason. Some of the passing motorists even slowed down to watch him as he finished up martial arts routine. Someone yelled out as they passed by in the Lexus RX, but he was too busy performing a roundhouse elbow to the head and transitioning into the big upward knee finale. He concluded by bowing deeply to nothing in particular then diverged from the sidewalk and made his way to the right lane of westbound traffic.
At least in western literature, or any kind of storytelling, people tend to identify with one character in the story, the so-called good guy. You got the protagonist and the antagonist, and all that stuff. We all love that guy, Protaggy I call him, anyway. What makes him so dandy? Aren’t we all the good guys in our own minds? Not that we always do good things. We just identify as the good guys. We tend to think we’re always good. I guess we Identify with ourselves. Not everyone, but generally people believe that they are good and that anyone who is doing things they don’t like, or maybe they just don’t agree, they are bad. I don’t think that’s right. If we all are the good guys of the story, then we are all the good. Who does that leave to be the bad? And maybe we’re all the ugly.
He remained in the road meandering forward. He would wait for the cars to get close enough, and then at the last second he would jump back onto the safety of the sidewalk. His newly purchased black turtleneck pulled up over his nose made him difficult to spot. They would curse and honk as they passed. He would respond by proudly raising his hands high above his head with his middle fingers extended and gesture proudly at the passing vehicles. He was making good time. His steps must have been longer than usual. He looked down and was annoyed that his socks appeared bluer than the rest of his clothing when everything was supposed to be black. He ran and picked up an orange in the grass near the sidewalk and quickly threw it as hard as he could straight down at the concrete in front of him. He then resumed his position in the street just as all the streetlights went black. It was a scheduled blackout. All the lights were gone. It was instituted by the local government as a measure to fight climate change. Behind, two points of light moved quickly towards him, but he just stared into the brightness of the tiny little patterns of light above him. As his eyes adjusted he could see more and more stars.
Am I dreaming? I really hate dreaming. I feel something odd. Is it hungry? No, I just ate... I’m not happy.
The beams of light grew closer. There wasn't much time left now. The driver did what she could, but it was inevitable. He was happy.
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