AlfredtheGreat
01-28-2011, 07:20 PM
I
Existentialism and the Pacific
Overcast. The water of the Pacific was the same gray as the sky. I had been driving for a few hours and got about a hundred miles north of San Francisco. No radio, just my thoughts. No passengers, I was by myself. I had always wanted to go to a deserted beach. Just like this one. I stopped, and pulled my truck over to the side of the road. I took a deep breath. My hair had gotten so long that it hung over my eyes like the curtain to a stage. I had been wearing the same jeans for three days now. My black shoes were muddied and cut up. My red flannel shirt was stained and wrinkled. I had a couple weeks growth of facial hair on my chin.
Opening the car door, I moved my legs toward the side and hung them over the side of the truck. I smoked one of the last few cigarettes I had. Flicked it on the ground and got out of the truck. Gently I closed the door. I walked out on to this beach enamored by the emotion that it evoked in me. I felt as though this was the only thing that I ever had to do in my life. It was about fifty feet from my truck to the beach.
I took a seat on the sand, picked up a rock and flung it out into the sea. Splash, waves broke on the beach. It was a calm day. The waves were in perfect rhythm. I counted the intervals between each wave. Splash, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, splash, always on time. I decide to lie down and look up at the sky. A group of seagulls passed by overhead, quickly I tried to count how many there were. It came out to about seven or eight, but they flew too fast for me to count them all. Anyways, I looked up and closed my eyes. The sounds of the waves crashing lulled me to sleep. I took on last deep breath and then passed into sleep.
II
The Itemization of My Truck
My truck was stocked with a few possessions. In the back was and old rope I used to tie down my furniture and boxes when I moved out of my old house. Inside there were wrappers from the food I had consumed on the trip to the beach. A bag of fast-food that was full of oil stains and still had the smell of a breakfast burrito lining the paper. A couple bags of chips were crumpled and strewn across the floor of the of the passenger side. On my mirror hung a small picture I had taken a few years before my trip. Behind the seats was a cooler with some drinks. Four cokes and three beers were leftover. In between the seats there was a crumpled up speeding ticket that I had to pay soon, one hundred and forty six dollars I had been fined. My backpack was behind the driver’s seat in it was a Biology textbook, some gym clothes, a pair of jeans, underwear, a white t-shirt, my iPod and about sixty dollars in cash. I also had three books resting on the passenger’s seat. I liked to pullover every once in a while maybe in a park or other beautiful setting a read. I had with me Les Miserables by Hugo, Great Expectations by Dickens and a copy of Hamlet for class.
Existentialism and the Pacific
Overcast. The water of the Pacific was the same gray as the sky. I had been driving for a few hours and got about a hundred miles north of San Francisco. No radio, just my thoughts. No passengers, I was by myself. I had always wanted to go to a deserted beach. Just like this one. I stopped, and pulled my truck over to the side of the road. I took a deep breath. My hair had gotten so long that it hung over my eyes like the curtain to a stage. I had been wearing the same jeans for three days now. My black shoes were muddied and cut up. My red flannel shirt was stained and wrinkled. I had a couple weeks growth of facial hair on my chin.
Opening the car door, I moved my legs toward the side and hung them over the side of the truck. I smoked one of the last few cigarettes I had. Flicked it on the ground and got out of the truck. Gently I closed the door. I walked out on to this beach enamored by the emotion that it evoked in me. I felt as though this was the only thing that I ever had to do in my life. It was about fifty feet from my truck to the beach.
I took a seat on the sand, picked up a rock and flung it out into the sea. Splash, waves broke on the beach. It was a calm day. The waves were in perfect rhythm. I counted the intervals between each wave. Splash, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, splash, always on time. I decide to lie down and look up at the sky. A group of seagulls passed by overhead, quickly I tried to count how many there were. It came out to about seven or eight, but they flew too fast for me to count them all. Anyways, I looked up and closed my eyes. The sounds of the waves crashing lulled me to sleep. I took on last deep breath and then passed into sleep.
II
The Itemization of My Truck
My truck was stocked with a few possessions. In the back was and old rope I used to tie down my furniture and boxes when I moved out of my old house. Inside there were wrappers from the food I had consumed on the trip to the beach. A bag of fast-food that was full of oil stains and still had the smell of a breakfast burrito lining the paper. A couple bags of chips were crumpled and strewn across the floor of the of the passenger side. On my mirror hung a small picture I had taken a few years before my trip. Behind the seats was a cooler with some drinks. Four cokes and three beers were leftover. In between the seats there was a crumpled up speeding ticket that I had to pay soon, one hundred and forty six dollars I had been fined. My backpack was behind the driver’s seat in it was a Biology textbook, some gym clothes, a pair of jeans, underwear, a white t-shirt, my iPod and about sixty dollars in cash. I also had three books resting on the passenger’s seat. I liked to pullover every once in a while maybe in a park or other beautiful setting a read. I had with me Les Miserables by Hugo, Great Expectations by Dickens and a copy of Hamlet for class.