July 7, 2010
By GoldenxSkull SILVER, Brooklyn, New York
GoldenxSkull SILVER, Brooklyn, New York
7 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one."

"The fear of death is the most unjustified of all fears, for there's no risk of accident for someone who's dead."


Everything is too loud here.

I don’t really know what brought this feeling on, but it has somehow managed to creep up on me, catching me off guard and gnawing on my insides. Black dots flitter in and out of my vision so quickly; I hardly have enough time to count them. The dull ache at the back of my head is gaining volume, predicting an oncoming headache. I wish it would go away.

I can hear the growling metal machine drilling into the cracked concrete, the stench of burning rubber causes my eyes to water, my nose twitching madly as if it was trying to hop off my face. Something foul tickles my throat and the sidewalks rattle with the afternoon trains whistling by underground. This noise, it’s familiar, but not in a friendly way, no not in the least; as I trail after all the dancing shadows, it nearly overwhelms me. I hate it here, but where else am I supposed to go?

I zone into the sound of my own footsteps, as I am whisked away by a sea of sweaty bodies squeezing pass me, and I hold my breath. Waiting….?

I don’t know where my feet are taking me, the signs begin to blur as the sky takes a final plunge. There is nothing sweet, or calm about the cool breeze, the night grows lonely and cold without the sun’s warmth to keep it company. A deep, low rumbling noise alerts me that I am hungry. My body hasn’t gotten used to skipping meals and I’ve forgotten how to listen. I am blinded by my own indifference, and I wish this feeling would just go away, along with the hunger. My body knows what it wants. How strange this feeling is.

It smells here.

The old lady standing behind the register greets me with a small smile, a large feat, I know what goes on in these crummy restaurants; she’s I treated like a dog 12 hours a day and I have a feeling that she has run out of options. I try in vain to strike up some pity, but my lips quirk up into a mirthless smile. I don’t feel sorry for her, not in the least. She tries to strike up a conversation, but I am not in the mood for her small talk. Five years from now I imagine she’ll still be working at this little dump and she won’t even remember me. It’s strange sometimes, these thoughts that crowd my brain. I don’t think I want to be remembered.

The food has no taste as it settles in my stomach. I even lick the grease off my fingertips, but my brain convinces me that I’m still hungry. I consider getting up for more, though all the funny looks that I get from strangers discourage me and instead of waiting on line, I stumble out the door. Maybe they see that I’m not really here, not in my right mind, just trapped between two worlds.

Don’ ask me what I’m talking about, that look on your face say’s it all. I inhale the air, a bitter taste clinging to my throat and I slowly exhale. I don’t know what brought this feeling on, but I wish it would go away.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

Swoon Reads

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!