To run was the only thing he could do. He couldn't escape the overwhelming feelings.
He couldn't escape the overwhelmingly heavy burden of the path he was given. It was his path, yes. Or was it a shared path? He suspected it was, but there was no one who could verify it. No one. He was Forrest Gump, just running. And the Bubba Gump Shrimp Factory was his reward. Momma said life was a series of bumps-- raised sheaves of sidewalk to step over or turn around and avoid. So he runs.
The pain was gigantic.
No, no wait, that wasn't the right word. What was the right word?
Around him people were shouting, shells were exploding, shots were being fired. But he was oblivious to that.
All he could do was lie there and try to find the word.
Someone was saying something close by. "You just hold on in there Billy, you just hold on, y'hear?"
Billy? For a moment the name didn't mean anything to him. Then he remembered that it was his own.
"It'll all be okay, you'll be okay." Another voice was talking to him.
Of course...
My word muscles are stiff. My writing bones ache. The prose reads like a bruise.
I burst bored air through my lips, upsetting the dust on my keyboard.
I see a tangerine, withered in the shadow of an orange, withering; dust on the hand sanitizer; a rubber band ball in a novelty stein; an orgy of paper clips; surrounded by colors, none too vivid, the only highlights are the highlighters.
The building I thought they were slowly constructing around me is being stripped as bare as a gazelle felled by a lion, shred by hyenas, cleaned by maggots.
I wasn't...
"This is your fault," his wife said to him. If you would just put your mother in her place I wouldn't have to and we wouldn't be fighting right now.
He replied loudly, "My fault? How is it my fault she's nosy? She doesn't mean anything by it anyway. You don't have to be such a bitch about every little thing."
"Oh. My. God. Seriously?" She was on a roll now. "It's your fault she's so nosy because you never say anything at all to her when she crosses a line. And once again, I wouldn't have to be such...
How did we meet? You really want that story again honey? Okay, then.
Well, it was ten years ago, your father was a student and I was visiting an old friend of mine. We were on our way out to a club to listen to this band...
No honey, I don't remember which band, because I never got to the gig. No, I don't know if they were any good... Look, do you want me to tell you this story or not?
Right, so we were walking to the bar where the band was supposed to play and to get...
Malcolm's coo became a cry. It had been hours since we had locked ourselves out of the house but it made no difference to him or his needs. The boy wanted his parents but was incapable of the simple act of walking over to the door and unlocking the deadbolt. The life Malcolm led was one of constant need, one of dependence.
The debilitating accident last year 'scrambled his circuits' as his mother put it but while the rest of the family wrestled with the fact that my son would never walk, eat, speak or function on his own, she...
He didn't even pack. He just picked up a satchel and left. He knew it'd been over for a while, but last night was when he was finally able to summon the courage to do it.
When people heard what he'd done, they'd offer their condolences. But he didn't see it as a sad thing. He saw it as a new beginning, as new horizons.
Not that he could fell it, but judging from the way he staggered with every few steps, his legs hadn't healed completely. It was likely he was setting himself up to trip and collapse again, unable to move, but he knew he couldn't stay any longer. He tried to make his steps as steady as possible, but with no percerption of how much weight he was applying, he was at a loss to gauge if he was accomplishing much, and in the back of his mind simply waited for the tell-tale crack of bones re-fracturing, and plummet into the grass....
Mrs. Johnson put the Cheez Whiz in her shopping cart. There was nothing in the cart but her jar of Cheez Whiz. It sat on top of the hashmark design of the shopping cart, basking in its cheezy glory. The lid was securely fastened to the jar of Cheez Whiz but later, when someone removed it, it would pop and the jar would yield its treasure of orange cheesy paste.
Mrs. Johnson pushed her cart of Cheez Whiz through the store. People smiled at her because she was well known in her town. "I see you're buying some Cheez Whiz,"...
Rupert sat gazing at the majestic mountains, but the only thought in his mind was, "Why did I have to have so many girls?" He was surrounded by femininity, enveloped, cocooned, suffocated. The son he'd longed for had never materialized, and the only other male companionship to be had in his own house was the manservant. Conversations with the help of more than a perfunctory nature were obviously out of the question.
So the women swarmed around him, but at least here he wasn't shrouded in lace and rose colored silk - though he'd need to speak to his...