I found this really old, fictitious story I wrote over 3 years ago that I never finished.... I dunno where it was supposed to go... I only wrote it because I was able to maintain a sort of lucid dream as I wrote it in which I didn't have to consciously move the story forward, but I could explore my surroundings very vividly.... dunno if that makes any sense.
I wait for the hissing that would announce a complete stop, and a completed leg of my little trip. I'm getting off here. The bus rocks slightly --like a boat-- with the shuffle of my fellow passengers, as we filed onto the curb one by one. The misty air stings my eyes as I looked east. No the light stings, and the mist amplifies the light. But I take little time to observe my surroundings. Why grow close to something I am leaving behind? Now I trudge up the slight incline toward the light. as I watch my feet, my steps grow shorter, I develop temporary destinations to attain, A light pole - posters scattered among the tacks and nails, "lose weight!" ...but I don't need to. "Make money while you sleep!" ...but I can't. 'Call me now for your free reading!" ...Sorry, but I don't care for fairy tales.
A new center of focus, the window of New Delhi Sandwiches, "Help Wanted."... Amen. "100% Natural herbal remedies." not my cup of tea. "ORDER TO GO" how had I missed this one? That's my bag, baby... but I've got to run.
Now around the corner and toward the steps. Going down. I am inconsiderate and I don't care, as I barge by those who are less sure of their footing. Relax people I'm a professional! I reach the bottom almost a full second before the next guy, I'm making good time. I Pass the water fountain- greening with age. Yet the figures are children at play, how is that? ...must be the fountain of youth.
I arrive at the place and sit, I sit on the place- a dilapidated park bench that had seen at least four decades. It bears the etchings of a thousand different people, characters, individuals. yet one marking was not so unique from another. they, as a whole, were nothing special, why then, would someone labor so hard to make their niche. It blends into a pattern so easily ignored. I couldn't stop myself, my pen.
when I finished my masterpiece it had a sparkle that stood out from the rest, still wet. I had made my point. Tomorrow it will fade like the others.
I suddenly wonder why it was so important to come to this place, but when I think about it, it wasn't that I needed to come here per se, but to get away from the familiarity of my dim and depressing dorm, it would probably not be so intolerable to a stranger, but experience takes the shine out of the light, when I stay to long in one place it is a real enough fact that the floor creeps up and the ceiling sinks down... and most definitely the walls move in. So, I've taken a break, I'm taking the time to address what is always at the forefront of my mind, but always blurred by the fact that I just am, sometimes I get overwhelmed by the fact that theres no way not to be- just to think. I will always hear, and always see, even with my eyes closed. so I change where I "am". now, what is on my mind? ....
...sorry my mind drifted. but I'm back... there is a Frisbee in the air, a dog on the ground, between them a field of attraction that anyone can recognize as a universal concept... and the universe will bring them together without fail. if the universe was fair and consistent it would have brought her to me, Why then, is she not seated by my side? I know there is a reason why. Could it be that she is not my Frisbee? it seems total nonsense to consider, but I try, when I resurface from within, I see the dog is gone and the day is abroad. The sun pushes at the shade from a weeping willow, and it is relenting. I make a timeless comparison. She is my sunshine. that is to say, my world revolves around her, and she is a billion miles away.
If I stay here much longer the pigeons will think I'm a recent addition to the bench. time to move. the sidewalk is slick where its not jagged and cracked, years of foot traffic have taken all irregular bumps from the surface. when I consider all the weight that has passed over it, one person (or two) at a time, I wonder how far the concrete has been mashed into the ground, bit by bit, pound by pound. Squirrels are darting about, congregating at the base of the larger trees in the park, I wonder if they actually communicate, I'm sure they could, but the question of whether they actually do arises when I consider that none of them seem to listen to the others, they concentrate so hard on what they have to say that they spare no time for silence, they could be an evolved species by now if they would just listen and cooperate.
Theres a gazebo set back in the shelter of a thick of trees, its smooth painted wood surface strongly contrasting the dark, rough bark of its surroundings. inside there is a couple, whispering. are they discussing a secret? thier secret to love? I shortly contemplate the possibility of eavesdropping from without the building. stealing some knowledge. but I know better, and I question the fact that such a impulse even entered my head. I keep walking, my posture a little less proud.