Compensation. What a funny word, I think, gazing down at my paycheck. As if any amount of pay for my menial tasks at the company really serves as retribution for the wasted hours of my life. Hours I no doubt would waste anyway, be they on a stupid game or masquerading as a whole human.
The brilliant story I have been saving is now foggy in my memory, and I am positive that the retelling will be lacking. So, when I head out to dinner with my roommate, I will probably never bring it up. If I head out to dinner. Will the consequences of not going be worse than the actual attendance? It doesn’t matter. Whatever he wants, he will get, because I lack the will to fight and care not to vanquish his will to do what I can not.
Outside the rotating doors, a solitary leaf spirals to the ground.
He watches it idly, mind reeling in tandem. Its colors grow richer, the lame beige deepening to copper with accents of bronze and burgundy striking through and shimmering metallically in the blades of light cutting through the canopy. It lands, settling on a palatial, white throat, and Sod flinches at the stark contrast. Hands dropping to his sides, he remembers why he was shaking her, and why he is shaking. Abruptly forcing his knees to straighten and his feet to support an unsteady frame, he wonders if any of these phantom females are real. Is his mind playing with him? They’re so strikingly familiar, so obeisant, so pure.
So dead.
A gasp erupts from his throat and he rushes away. Foolishly in the morning light. Loudly through the brambles of the meadow bordering the forest. Like a criminal. Like a murderer. Like what he is. A groan carves its way out of his mouth, thrashing forth on a crest of spittle, and he dashes headlong through a stream. Then an arrow rips into his flank, and he drops into the water, gasping for breath. In a moment of shock, he watches the slow current bear his blood away, his paling fingers flexing around a cruel shaft protruding from beneath his arm. Pushing himself up, he wills himself to flee, but by the time he pulls his cheek from the flood an indomitable force is pressing down from the other side.
“So how is dinner? Knock knock? Anyone there?”
“What the hell are you playing? Turn it off. Now,” I shout, gazing angrily across the table toward the proprietor, forgetting not only myself but my friend.
The brilliant story I have been saving is now foggy in my memory, and I am positive that the retelling will be lacking. So, when I head out to dinner with my roommate, I will probably never bring it up. If I head out to dinner. Will the consequences of not going be worse than the actual attendance? It doesn’t matter. Whatever he wants, he will get, because I lack the will to fight and care not to vanquish his will to do what I can not.
Outside the rotating doors, a solitary leaf spirals to the ground.
He watches it idly, mind reeling in tandem. Its colors grow richer, the lame beige deepening to copper with accents of bronze and burgundy striking through and shimmering metallically in the blades of light cutting through the canopy. It lands, settling on a palatial, white throat, and Sod flinches at the stark contrast. Hands dropping to his sides, he remembers why he was shaking her, and why he is shaking. Abruptly forcing his knees to straighten and his feet to support an unsteady frame, he wonders if any of these phantom females are real. Is his mind playing with him? They’re so strikingly familiar, so obeisant, so pure.
So dead.
A gasp erupts from his throat and he rushes away. Foolishly in the morning light. Loudly through the brambles of the meadow bordering the forest. Like a criminal. Like a murderer. Like what he is. A groan carves its way out of his mouth, thrashing forth on a crest of spittle, and he dashes headlong through a stream. Then an arrow rips into his flank, and he drops into the water, gasping for breath. In a moment of shock, he watches the slow current bear his blood away, his paling fingers flexing around a cruel shaft protruding from beneath his arm. Pushing himself up, he wills himself to flee, but by the time he pulls his cheek from the flood an indomitable force is pressing down from the other side.
May the glory of the Lord endure forever.
May the Lord rejoice in His works.
He who looks at the Earth and it trembles.
He who touches the mountains and they burn.
I will sing to the Lord all my life.
I will sing to my God as long as I live.
May my meditations please you, as I rejoice in you Lord.
Praise you Lord forevermore.
May the Lord rejoice in His works.
He who looks at the Earth and it trembles.
He who touches the mountains and they burn.
I will sing to the Lord all my life.
I will sing to my God as long as I live.
May my meditations please you, as I rejoice in you Lord.
Praise you Lord forevermore.
“So how is dinner? Knock knock? Anyone there?”
“What the hell are you playing? Turn it off. Now,” I shout, gazing angrily across the table toward the proprietor, forgetting not only myself but my friend.