March 15, 2011
By HR2507 GOLD, Maple Ridge, Other
HR2507 GOLD, Maple Ridge, Other
11 articles 0 photos 2 comments

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Afterism (n) - A concise, clever statement you don't think of until it's too late.

A sea of bodies stretched out in front of him. They moved in unison; swaying, jumping and intertwining as though it was as natural as breathing. The music deafened him, the shy one, who remained in the corner unwilling to move. His attention was fixed directly ahead, scanning the dance floor intensely, not focusing on anyone in particular. A slender woman approached him yet timid as he appeared, he did not seem fazed by her advance. She stood almost face to face with him staring directly into his glistening eyes. A flirtatious smile spread across his face; growing with every second he spent with her. Conversation was minimal, hushed. Anyone walking past may have heard the odd ‘yes’ or the occasional giggle. The lady twisted her hair with a single finger and leaned seductively to one side of her body, balancing on precariously high heels. Clearly, she liked the clean, well-polished type. The brief moment of happiness ended all too suddenly as the woman’s friends dragged her away from him. They shared a last longing gaze until she faded into the murky depths of the club, lost at sea.
Emptiness washed over the one who remained in the corner. Occasionally someone passing by would give him a quick glance, but nobody stayed to chat. It was times like this that he wondered whether people could see him at all. ‘What was the point of being dressed up to look your best if no one appreciates it’ he pondered. People only care if they look good. They only require your attention to obtain approval of their own image; to fuel their ego. The one in the corner burned with anger. He felt that at any moment he would crack and explode in an uncontrollable fit of fury. This was until a new figure joined him in the corner. He was a well-built man whose frame was easily twice as big as the one in the corner. There was a hint of recognition in their eyes; meeting in the club had become somewhat of a routine.
It was not obvious at a glance, but a closer look would uncover a darkened scar etched onto the face of the one who stands in the corner. The man who was twice his frame noticed the unusual scar, others didn’t notice, but he did. The man laughed, deeply and slowly, breathing hot air into the face of the one in the corner before disappearing into the waves of bodies, leaving a single tear sliding down his face.
From this moment the one in the corner knew the sequence of events about to unfold. He knew every move that man would make. The drink he would buy. The way he would dance; even the words that would spill off his snake-like tongue. The one in the corner hated this man, but as each week went past it became harder to stop him. The man would look him directly in the eye, yet he was powerless to say anything. He could only capture the murderous glance of the man as he strolled out of the club, girl on his arm. The mirror tried to scream out, desperately wanting to intervene, but just like those times before, he just stood and watched helplessly.

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