| Still trying to get to part 2 |
[Sep. 13th, 2005|03:12 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  awake | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Crossfade - Colors | ] |
Well, as a preface, this started as a bad movie plot and slowly transformed into something else. Deal with it.
open at a funeral
everyone crying except
one man, so numb and out of touch with true emotion he can only stand there
his mind is somewhere else, anywhere else but on the casket being lowered in front of him
It's only fitting to start the story here. Death is the beginning to a lost soul.
It gives purpose to the drifting, shape to nothingness.
"How selfish," he thought as he watched the tears falling around him lift from the ground to form a transparent sphere of forgotten memories hanging next to the clouds.
Staring into that psychotically dreamt ball of tears he remembers his own life, his own tears, his contribution to society as a heart transplant patient remembers their life before the surgery. Like an addict remembers their life before the halfway house.
Detachment is a temporary state prior to feeling utterly absent in your present bodily form. Worse than playing with fire, detaching yourself because of fear will leave you like this. A soulless ghost of who you once were. Smiling in photographs, laughing at jokes, orgasming out of something other than obligation.
"Putting on the charade," he reassures himself.
This soullessness is his truth in life. 40 hours of whoring yourself to the ideals and goals of a chartered company whose CEO will be sure to cut everyone's Christmas bonus so he can get his son-in-law a membership at the country club. Fucking prick.
Real outrage, anger and resentment manages to escape into the normal world sometimes. The common folk call it "crime". He calls it uncalculated out lashes that should have been corralled into an unemployed and working class revolution.
"I'm so sorry for your loss."
"Thank you. He was a good man. I'm glad we could all be here to remember just how good." Just a pre-programmed response. He didn't even look up to identify which woman's voice was trying to sound sympathetic. He spent all of a few hundred nano-seconds processing the grief in his brain. While he can spend god-knows how long debating some non-existent working class revolution to give balance to the world. And then it hits him. Epiphany Today's front page article with his dumbfounded face plastered in scandal black & white. |
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| Comments: |
You have something really awesome there. Add something in there to make the audience feel somthing toward him. Either feeling sorry that he's so numb, or the opposite. i knwo it's not finished, but think on that.
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