(no subject)
I haven't posted here in quit sometime. I had this urge to write, but I had no idea what about. So, I sat at my computer and typed the first thing that came to mind. I tried not to think too much about what I was writing, I just wrote. This is what I came up with...
A cold, stiff breeze kicks up the red and orange leaves. The end of Autumn is drawing near. The death throws of the world are calming, preparing to go into the long cold slumber of Winter. In the distance a small man approaches. He's carrying a briefcase and clutches his the ends of his coat closer to him for warmth. His car broke down miles ago. His cellphone died. He's forced to walk home, in the cold. Work, for him, is misery. Day in, day out, the same old thing. A report needed to be done in triplicates, but the copier was down for repair. The boss needed him to stay late, so he can catch up on his work.
A kid rides buy on his bike and yells out “Watch out, mister!” The man barely flinches as the kid nearly clips him. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters any more. Not this cold. Not his job. Or even his car. He's given up on the world, on life. He gets to his door, fumbles for the keys. He opens the door and moments later there's a sharp CRACK. Followed by another! Then another! Five in all. The neighbors call the police.
Gunshots, they say. Their white and black cars race down the leaf covered road, kicking up the red and orange leaves. Another domestic shooting. They pass by a BMW sitting on the side of the road, it's hood raised. A quick glance shows no one to be near. They get to the house, the man is demanding to speak to someone. Anyone. No one listens any more. He's going to make them listen. His children are dead. They wouldn't listen. His wife lays bleeding on the floor. She wouldn't listen. A man on a bullhorn yells out “Sir, we need you to come out of your home, please.”
“No! I... I have demands. I have needs. I want to be heard!”
The man with the bullhorn continued this way for hours, but he wasn't listening. He was doing his job while the SWAT team was getting in position. The man inside said his wife was still alive. They think he's lost his grasp. They don't know that he's already been falling. He's been falling for quite sometime. The gun barrel as a strange coppery taste to it. He cries it “I see the end, I see where I'm going to land.” CRACK!
Two people walk away, their open jackets flutter behind them in the breeze. They make no attempt to shield themselves from the cold. They make no sound. They don't draw attention to themselves. They don't exist.
A cold, stiff breeze kicks up the red and orange leaves. The end of Autumn is drawing near. The death throws of the world are calming, preparing to go into the long cold slumber of Winter. In the distance a small man approaches. He's carrying a briefcase and clutches his the ends of his coat closer to him for warmth. His car broke down miles ago. His cellphone died. He's forced to walk home, in the cold. Work, for him, is misery. Day in, day out, the same old thing. A report needed to be done in triplicates, but the copier was down for repair. The boss needed him to stay late, so he can catch up on his work.
A kid rides buy on his bike and yells out “Watch out, mister!” The man barely flinches as the kid nearly clips him. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters any more. Not this cold. Not his job. Or even his car. He's given up on the world, on life. He gets to his door, fumbles for the keys. He opens the door and moments later there's a sharp CRACK. Followed by another! Then another! Five in all. The neighbors call the police.
Gunshots, they say. Their white and black cars race down the leaf covered road, kicking up the red and orange leaves. Another domestic shooting. They pass by a BMW sitting on the side of the road, it's hood raised. A quick glance shows no one to be near. They get to the house, the man is demanding to speak to someone. Anyone. No one listens any more. He's going to make them listen. His children are dead. They wouldn't listen. His wife lays bleeding on the floor. She wouldn't listen. A man on a bullhorn yells out “Sir, we need you to come out of your home, please.”
“No! I... I have demands. I have needs. I want to be heard!”
The man with the bullhorn continued this way for hours, but he wasn't listening. He was doing his job while the SWAT team was getting in position. The man inside said his wife was still alive. They think he's lost his grasp. They don't know that he's already been falling. He's been falling for quite sometime. The gun barrel as a strange coppery taste to it. He cries it “I see the end, I see where I'm going to land.” CRACK!
Two people walk away, their open jackets flutter behind them in the breeze. They make no attempt to shield themselves from the cold. They make no sound. They don't draw attention to themselves. They don't exist.