DUDE YOU EVER GET HIGH ON LIFE? SHIT’S ACTUALLY CRAZY. No LIE I was high on life all last MONTH? Idk how I did that shit. Banged so many women, got so many A’s, got all the promotions… shit was a blur. I came down and shit was INTENSE. I was so depressed man, I just felt dead. I tried to look for more life but shit… Those girls never texted me back. My job said I quit because I decided to start LIVING. It was awful. So I went to my friend and was like, “Shit man, can you give me my life back?”
And he says to me, “Man… No one can just give you your life back.” Then he handed me a blunt. I sat there and smoked a bit thinking about the mistakes I made.
“You know shit happens man…” my friend said. He looked at me, real concerned like. He paused and I passed him the blunt. He took a nice long hit and thought for a moment. “But hey that’s life!”
I looked back at my friend with so much blatant disgust. My friend’s an asshole.
Angels and Demons; Coffee and Cigarettes pt. 1
The tall, heavy-hearted man takes long, steps bearing the weight of his world into the small diner on the corner.
“What’ll ya have darlin?” asks the hostess.
The man stops dead and looks round the diner. A trucker sits at the corner of the bar staring down into his coffee. Two wives sit in a booth, laughing and chattering. He looks at the cook wiping out an empty mug behind the bar. None of these things were of particular importance to the man. Suddenly he sees another man, his friend, sitting in a booth in the corner, quietly reading the business section of his newspaper. The tall, heavy-hearted man points over to him.
“I’ll take whatever he’s having.” He walks over, his steps echoing throughout the room. He takes off his black fedora.
“Sam.” The man gruffly and quietly utters his friends name, looking down to quietly assessing the situation. Blue tie. Black suit, black coffee. White shirt. Scrambled eggs. Toast. Mixed vegetables. No meat? Maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to order. Sam looks up from his newspaper.
“Luiz!” Sam promptly hops up from the table. He wipes his mouth, folding his napkin and his newspaper. Sam excitedly hugs his friend, standing there awkwardly and grimacing slightly.
“Alright, Sam, alright. That’s enough.” Sam pushes himself away from Luiz while keeping grasp of his friend’s shoulders.
“Ah yes, of course, of course! I forgot.” Sam looks at his friend with gentle understanding. He extends his arm with friendly subtle invitation. Luiz extends his arm cautiously. Sam takes his hand faster than the feral dog outback takes scraps out the trashcan. The men exchange a firm handshake while the trucker stares dumbfounded, just as he would stare any other day. But today was different.
Luiz takes off his coat and lays it in the booth. The two men sit down.
“How long has it been, Luiz?”
“‘Bout four years.” Luiz looks across the table to Sam. His cold serious demeanor warms up a little; grimace turns to smirk.
“Luiz, it’s really good to see you. You look great. I mean it.”
“Well… thank you. You look good yourself.” The waitress walks over to the table and sets down Luiz’s food. Luiz looks down, and gives a forced smile at the waitress as she turns and walks away.
“What? No meat, Luiz?” Luiz just sits there staring discontentedly.
“Well I just figured you’d be…”
“New diet, old friend! Ahaha here let’s get you some country fried steak… you still like country fried steak, right, Luiz?” Luiz looks up from his meal and back at his friend, smiling a bit. Sam hails the waitress over and asks for the steak. The waitress chews her gum and walks away.
“Ahh… Alright then,” Sam sighs to himself, “Shall we get down to business?”
Ghosts at Hand
After what seemed like an eternal day, he treated himself to a nice warm bath. The steam rose from the tepid bed of water, caressing his pores and making him feel human once more. A time had passed and the man lifted his hands to get out of the tub. However, he could not. Not for he hadn’t the motivation, and certainly not for lack of strength. He could not lift himself from the tub for he had seen the wrinkles in his hands. It was not a particularly unusual sight, but one not seen in quite some time. His skin had folded to look like canyons across a great plain, water dripping down his hands like little rivers.
“One day,” he thought, “One day my hands will look like this permanently. I will have reached a point where my skin won’t return to its youthfulness as it does today…”
The thought haunted him, like the ghosts that had formed within his fingers. He stared at them and they stared back in horror. The rivers flowing down the canyons had morphed into the tears of the 10 forgotten upon his hands.
He looked closer upon his hands. He took note of the scars, calluses, and cuts he had obtained over the long eternal day. Some scars went back weeks even.
“Weeks? What more for when years have passed? One day these scars will not leave me. One day they will be ingrained into my skin!” The thoughts echoed through his mind. It terrified him.
Although only minutes had passed with him looking at his hands, the minutes seemed as days. ”I have no time to dwell on such silly thoughts of the future and demons of the past!” he proclaimed to himself, and with that he pulled himself out of the tub and dried himself off. But, that did not change the fact that the thought was there, and he did, indeed already dwell on it. The deed was done, and nothing could change the past he had written.
The Meticulous Addict.
It remained no surprise that in the end, chemicals had become his lonely best friend. He meticulously made his mark upon the world, fretting and perfecting every “brilliant” minute detail, only to realize the details were so insignificant in the big picture. Nobody remembers the details after all, they only remember the big picture. He looked back upon his work. Sadly all his little details failed to paint the picture he once strived for. It was a sad thing to realize in death. A sad thing indeed.
The Tiniest Speck
A tiny speck yelled out into the universe, “Listen to me! I have something to say!” The words echoed across the universe fading into nothingness, but the little speck yelled louder, “Listen to me! I have something to say!” Soon a little dog passed by. He spat on the ground, “Who do you expect to hear you? You are just a tiny little speck. Go home to your family.” The tiny little speck said to the little dog, “Well I have something to say. I want someone out there to hear me. Will you listen to what I have to say?”
“Fine,” replied the little dog, “But do not expect me to join you.”
The little dog listened to the pleas of the tiny speck and his eyes widened, “You’re right!” said the dog, “You do have something to say!” And so the dog joined the speck and the speck yelled a quiet whisper and the little dog barked and yelped.
Soon many other animals and men joined in their cries and pleas, and soon the whole world was yelling, “Hey! Listen to us! We have something to say!”
Some animals denounced their cries, “They’ll never get anything done! They are just a few specks.” But their words were few, while the words of many echoed throughout the universe. These words would not fade. Not now. They resonated throughout the stars, the soundwaves caressing anything in its path, ever expanding. And now the tiny speck could die happy. For although alone he did so little, but because of many the universe listened.