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Tuesday
May 29, 2012
7:23pm EDT


  >> Static Item >> Other >> Other >> ID #1034518  |   Show DetailsPrinter Friendly Page Tell A Friend
??? first work out of spontenaity(sp?)
One late night i was inspired to write, this is my first ever attempt.
Rated:
13+
by
Avg Rating: (2)
Broken but not defeated, he leaves the gloomy apartment. The streets are unforgiving.
What direction is there, with no leads to follow and nothing to go on. Nowhere to go and not a staggered soul to talk to. Miles and miles add up, but this is not the case with his thoughts. Full of an eerie nothing the journey continues.
What was so misguided that it had to end in such a way. Everything at his fingertips. Snatched away within the hour. What lies ahead now. It can’t be good. Begging, not an option. Pride is a dangerous thing, very dangerous if it is the only thing you have left. Is it possible to make his destination with nothing but the blood soaked shirt on his back. What is the destination. He does not know.
Fate is a funny thing. "It will all work out" he tells himself. If only this had any meaning to it. Is it really possible to change your future, if everything happens for a reason. Who in this crooked world has the credentials to answer a question of that caliber.
Time is precious, not to be fiddled away, but what is he to do with his time. When you go from the figurative top of the world and instantly drop off the shaky bridge into an endless pit of despair, time looses it relevance, and purpose becomes evasive.
A dimly lit bar catches his eye, how cliché it is too drink away the pain. "What’ll it be" says the bartender, but he receives no request. A seasoned bartender he is, he understands and lets our man be. The hands on the clock spin, a meaningless spin it is. Closing time forces him back out into the cold weather. All this time he was unable to grasp the concept of having nowhere to go, it sets in. All he can do is sit. What it is to be reduced to those you once despised.
This couldn’t be the end. Life terminated. Or could it. As every meaningless second dwindled the events seemed worse. She was gone, for good this time around. Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. But what happens after twice, he knows now. she had taken a lot of shame, and no more. How could he have such a lapse in judgment. How much was there to gain. A piece of information he will never know. To act on impulse is something he will only do once more, only give himself the chance to do once more.

© Copyright 2005 C Rus (UN: sir_c_rus at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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