Parfington
06-07-2015, 04:26 PM
He ponders as he sits at a sticky wobbling table in a laundromat, a flickering fluorescent bulb attracts a bloated metallic shelled fly. My ears still buzzing from a strong cup of "coffee," an overwhelming sense of distaste in relatively innocent bystanders, my expression dulled by a silly beard, the bystanders go about their laundry, speaking in private tones to hide the mutual distaste in the strangers. The magazines piled on flimsy plastic shelves promise a fount of entertainment, but at the sight of the silly young bearded man, the magazines wither into so much dust.
My eyes focus on a spot on the wall. As his focus intensifies, the spots surrounding his chosen speck vanish and waver as his eyes move in minute calculated twitches. The floor extends a hand to his drug addled mind. A veritable cornucopia of colors reverberates from within the odd bearded fellow and stitch a vivid and complex tapestry depicting a canyon in motion as the ever forceful water carves an awe inspiring divot in ancient stone.
He blinks several times to dissolve the hallucination and returns to scribbling on the back of job applications, oblivious of the tragedy, a tragedy ominous and blatantly announcing itself on the horizon littered by buildings of wood, metal, and stone. The cold retreats from his cradled torso, the bitter breeze cutting him to the quick with reckless abandon. He shivers a bit, attempting to tide the tremors with intense pressure in his lungs, driving warm healthy blood to his head and causing a familiar numbness to rapidly spread across his flesh.
He awakens with a start to find himself abandoned in the vile laundromat. He dwells, and a pouting frown spreads across the oily canvas of his face. He assumes his now absent associates returned to the bungalo. He gathers himself from the heap of desolate flesh, shed, as though it were a mere defense strategy used by his early ancestors when they were stranded in primitive loincloth washing caves by their Neanderthal peers. A quick dusting leaves him with a few strands of pubic-like hair, unfortunately at one time located on his head. He sighs and prepares himself for the trek back to the aforementioned bungalo.
Understandably, this was no easy task thanks to his defensive flesh purging. His tendons gleaming by the halogen lamps often hung to guide tourists to their untimely demise. His muscles begin experiencing damage, the likes of which very few beings have shared.
It is not surprising to find that the now beardless oaf was struggling to retain his senses, only to find that several key sensory data receptors were either enigmatically erased from the post-bearded chap, or remained, only to be tainted and overwhelmed by intense radiations coming surreptitiously from a brand new radiate-o-matic, purchased in bulk from an Italian Wal-Mart by a primate encumbered by a mass of diodes linked to the necessary neurons and various other pseudo-scientific jargon that I don't imagine would be of interest to my readers.
But back to our interesting, albeit fairly unlucky sans beard hero and his epidermis-lacking escapades. As he slowly made his way to the bungalo, for whatever reason, he seemed to believe the bungalo to be a sort of Shangri La, or a Valhalla, with a secret preference of non-violence until Ragnarok.
His sojourn was met with resistance in the form of an abnormally massive fire ant colony and was swiftly and efficiently deconstructed by a parade of drones. With that event the hero found himself in an odd predicament, namely, lack of a body. He hovered for a moment, shrugged and continued to the hallowed bungalo of lore. He smirks with delight as he passes through a dim-witted pedestrian, causing the poor man a monumental shock, followed by rather comical convulsions resulting in a sudden snuffing of his life.
My eyes focus on a spot on the wall. As his focus intensifies, the spots surrounding his chosen speck vanish and waver as his eyes move in minute calculated twitches. The floor extends a hand to his drug addled mind. A veritable cornucopia of colors reverberates from within the odd bearded fellow and stitch a vivid and complex tapestry depicting a canyon in motion as the ever forceful water carves an awe inspiring divot in ancient stone.
He blinks several times to dissolve the hallucination and returns to scribbling on the back of job applications, oblivious of the tragedy, a tragedy ominous and blatantly announcing itself on the horizon littered by buildings of wood, metal, and stone. The cold retreats from his cradled torso, the bitter breeze cutting him to the quick with reckless abandon. He shivers a bit, attempting to tide the tremors with intense pressure in his lungs, driving warm healthy blood to his head and causing a familiar numbness to rapidly spread across his flesh.
He awakens with a start to find himself abandoned in the vile laundromat. He dwells, and a pouting frown spreads across the oily canvas of his face. He assumes his now absent associates returned to the bungalo. He gathers himself from the heap of desolate flesh, shed, as though it were a mere defense strategy used by his early ancestors when they were stranded in primitive loincloth washing caves by their Neanderthal peers. A quick dusting leaves him with a few strands of pubic-like hair, unfortunately at one time located on his head. He sighs and prepares himself for the trek back to the aforementioned bungalo.
Understandably, this was no easy task thanks to his defensive flesh purging. His tendons gleaming by the halogen lamps often hung to guide tourists to their untimely demise. His muscles begin experiencing damage, the likes of which very few beings have shared.
It is not surprising to find that the now beardless oaf was struggling to retain his senses, only to find that several key sensory data receptors were either enigmatically erased from the post-bearded chap, or remained, only to be tainted and overwhelmed by intense radiations coming surreptitiously from a brand new radiate-o-matic, purchased in bulk from an Italian Wal-Mart by a primate encumbered by a mass of diodes linked to the necessary neurons and various other pseudo-scientific jargon that I don't imagine would be of interest to my readers.
But back to our interesting, albeit fairly unlucky sans beard hero and his epidermis-lacking escapades. As he slowly made his way to the bungalo, for whatever reason, he seemed to believe the bungalo to be a sort of Shangri La, or a Valhalla, with a secret preference of non-violence until Ragnarok.
His sojourn was met with resistance in the form of an abnormally massive fire ant colony and was swiftly and efficiently deconstructed by a parade of drones. With that event the hero found himself in an odd predicament, namely, lack of a body. He hovered for a moment, shrugged and continued to the hallowed bungalo of lore. He smirks with delight as he passes through a dim-witted pedestrian, causing the poor man a monumental shock, followed by rather comical convulsions resulting in a sudden snuffing of his life.