Wednesday, April 20, 2011

What is it?

There is this short little story hiding behind the curtain. But everyone is too lazy to move the hanging piece of cloth.
Lazy, laid-back; hazy, heady, and what-not regressive adjective come to the mind.
If the patterns were the very purpose, then it's reason enough for a lot of pessimism.
But pessimism doesn't pay much.
As they say in the movies, any person you pick on, would give you a thousand reasons why he ought to die. Thousand versus one. So it is, for everyone.
The trouble-maker is an exception, though. He would make mistakes, so that others can learn from his. Honor, such an ancient concept to live for. Or almost, die for.
It's so easy to say, after all. It's easier to imagine it.
Fresh twigs strewn around.
That old smell of wet wood; almost pleasant, though rotten.
Soft, fluorescent, crayon-colored leaves.
And an empty drop of dew that the eyes are tired of staring at.
Strength, he refused today.
It's his turn, tonight.

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