Let's run this shit into the ground!

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R: So, short story writing. Not sure what to say about it. Character Development:

F: His hands were flat on the table, on either side of the manila envelope from her lawyer’s office, as if to grasp and strangle its contents should they move the wrong way. The chair that he had occupied was laying on its side a few steps away. His eyes were stuck on the opened flap of the envelope, and the exertion seemed to drown out any and all sound. The faucet continued to drip in spite of this, as it always did, the steady ‘thup…thup…thup’ of water droplets echoing inside the stainless steel basin. A small pool of water quivered under each impact, disturbing the ring of filth that had been pushed to the edges. He stood over the envelope for another minute, heart pulsing in time with the faucet, until he tore his eyes away and headed to fetch another cup from above the stove.

From the cabinets, his hands produced a small, crystal tumbler with gold filament blown into the glass. This was followed by a bottle of cooking brandy that he purchased the previous month. He set the glass down carefully and looked out of the window above the sink. He proceeded to tear the seal from the top of the bottle when his eyes began to drift across the linoleum floors, past the toppled chair, up a table leg, across the polished oak surface and finally resting on the envelope. His hands picked up their pace and the foil fell from the top of the bottle to the counter and bounced to the floor. Eyes locked on the envelope, he began to calmly twist the cork from the bottle. A small ‘pop’ cried out from his hands and his eyes swung back to the task at hand. A shoe crushed and crumpled the foil as he shifted to pour the liquor, not bothering to stop with a civil amount, keeping the bottle tilted until the amber liquid was lapping at the rim of the tumbler. The cork slid back into the bottle until the back was flush. His long fingers delicately raised the glass to his lips, and he took a small sip. His eyes closed and a half-smile flashed across his lips as he swallowed. A moment passed and he finally let himself breath in, the evaporating sensation that lay poised in the back of his nose and throat rushing down and filling him from the inside. A pleasant burning and a wave of calm radiated through his body, if only for a second.

‘Thup…thup...thup’. Eyelids fluttered open, and the glass was set back onto the counter. The glass clopped against the counter and brandy sloshed over the edge and onto his fingertips. He turned back to the stove and began to dry his hand on the white towel that hung on the oven door’s handle. He tossed the towel on top of the stove when he was finished and opened the cabinet again. His left hand disappeared to the back of the cabinet, his toes on end to give him a better view. There was a small clatter of bottles knocking against one another, and then his hand drew back out into the light with a small, red cardboard box grasped between thumb and forefinger. A shake of the box and the sound of small wooden sticks rattling inside was enough to bring the half-smile back to his face, no matter how fleeting its stay would be. Holding the box up in front of his face, nostrils flaring at the hint of sulfur, he began to trace his fingers against the light from the window over the ever leaky sink. The box was slipped into his pocket as he walked to the table. The envelope was whisked away and he exited the kitchen. A few moments later the front door could be heard opening and finally shut.

The kitchen was quiet again. There was coffee dripping down the wall opposite of the chair on the floor, some soaking into the drywall broken by the impact of the mug. Porcelain shards littered the tile below. A bitter aroma began to spread throughout the kitchen, permeating every nook and cranny, but had no nose to touch and no memories to evoke. The pool of water in the kitchen sink began to quiver with each added drop, until finally the last drop could no longer hold onto the lip of the faucet and plummeted. The tension broke, and the small pool began to slowly run out through the drain, the ring of dirt breaking and giving way to the liquid’s chosen path. Afterwards, the faucet continued to drip. ‘Thup…thup…thup’.

Things have never been so swell...

IMPORTANT!!
((http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PB5YcnsotZI))
IMPORTANT!!

So, to cut to the chase:











Now.

I think it's all getting to me, finally. It's almost staggering.

I've been a cynical person, always said the worst possible things about human beings as a species. But I always felt that down below there was something decent about them. That maybe we all just got a bad wrap. Maybe if we just chill, respect those in the community, try to help out and share a laugh here and there, there can be a balance, at least for a little while.

But now, I'm not so sure. I mean, seriously? Some rich fucker who flaunts everything they have, gabbing on and on about their prized possessions and whatnot, I could see a reason there. But that's still not an excuse. I've tried to be humble about my accomplishments, about the things I've earned and built. I never saw a reason to put them out there in people's faces. And I thought "maybe, just maybe, this is a saving grace."

Oy.

But it's gone, material items with sentimental values and old trinkets of what I used to be able to do and photos of friends and conversations and accumulated knowledge. But, I'm smarter now, and the loss will be prevented, at least on the level of data.

Chaps my ass.

Am I a violent person? I think I am. I search craigslist for my shit, I find a post title that seems like it's my items, and I shake. My heart starts to beat like it always did while sparring. I can feel everything course through my veins and slide into the center of my brain. Instant adrenaline rush.

But the action is stayed, and the pulsing eventually subsides.

Oh well. As long as it's controlled.

To those worried:

I am alright. Well, I will be alright. I'm a bit depressed, but I'm coping alright I think. I have my hat, my dog, my girlfriend and a few packs of cigarettes. Everything will be fine. I know some of you are worried to the point of exhaustion, but please, for my sake, relax a bit. I know I'm partially the baby of the family, but I am an adult, I think? I'm going to find a new place to live. I'm going to reinforce the god damn door with some metal. Eins and I and the remainder of my possessions are going to be fine. I am safe for now and am being cautious. I love each and every one of you, but please do accept that I'm going to be O.K.

There's nothing to fear. Just work to be done.

Thank you for all your help. I'd be worse off without it.

This won't be happening, sorry:

The Great God Perspectivus came down from the heavens and along with him traveled the not-so-great and terribly finicky agod Selectivus. There was also the god of pronunciation, Ivusivus, but he rode in the back.

Upon seeing the world, the Great God Perspectivus proclaimed: "All of this will fail/succeed. All of this is good/evil. All of this is chocolate/chocolate with mint."
"Good God!" exclaimed Selectivus.
"Great," interjected Perspectivus.
"Everything cannot succeed/fail! There must be examples and heroes. Here, I will decide who succeeds by who has the most money."
"But are they happy?"
"Fine, then by who has the least money."
"But do they not starve and freeze?"
"Fine, those who are in the middle."
"But don't they always want more?"
"Well dammit, then who succeeds/fails?!"
"We leave that up to the individual to decide."
"So they're going to disagree and kill each other."
"Pretty much" said Perspectivus as he patted Selectivus on the head and headed back home.

A man then dreamt up a dead god sleeping below the sea.

Pronunciation shit himself.

There is no song so sad as I.

I shall become as if I never was.
To fade, to not see anymore.

I know. Keep that in your mind always.

I know.

When you study the click drag shuffle step, you understand what makes a person.

Misery and lies in most.

When you hear the soft tapping of feet biting at your ears, can feel the dejected soul of another before they pass, realize what is truly in someone's heart when they walk through that door, understand the hesitation in their breath.

To live. Is the propagation of pain not ingrained in each of us?

To show the truth behind the eyes, to overwhelm one feeling with another, to allow a person to drown in what we have created. When the air we breath is acidic, when the sun scorches the only beauty we could find, is this not a kind fate to offer to another?

Call and response, as if we are children lost in this world. "to be"..."Or not to be".

"I love..."

Is it an echo back or is it something delivered with trust, truth, triviality?

Mechanical, almost, how we pause and stare and mutter to ourselves about what we truly are.

I jump, to reach, to attain, to change, to bring something better to two hearts that have not had.

But do my feet leave the ground?

To the hesitation in your....
To the question in your...
To the resentment in your...
To the new...in your...

I know.

But it does not change the fact that I need to hear

what is hidden.

What no one wishes to speak.

I know due to my ways. My study and logic. My experience.

Everyone is the same. So why try to hide it from me?

That alone keeps me awake right now, unable to have even the music and the sound of my rasping breath lull me to dreamless sleep. Vulgar thoughts running through my head. Occurred? I think so.

I know.

Give me what I know. From your own lips. I think I deserve that much. There was a promise...remember?

It's been 5 days since things have changed.

What happened? I know. But in your own words, that's what I seek.

To drown.
To sleep.

So that I may fade from vision, from mind, and give you what I know you desire.

Wipe the spit, from my face...

((http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tqxtEFAJEU))