EPTLet me guys treat you to stream of consciousness prose. I don't know if you are aware of it, but my Literature teacher encouraged me saying I have "an active imagination that I have to tame with words."
Is it not a blue box;
or How the rhino suddenly laughed at itself
or How the rhino suddenly laughed at itself
On the other hand, I thought as I opened the door to the bakery, one hand in my pocket, and the other on giving the door knob a twist.
No
This
Ca
nno
t
be!
Suddenly, there was a man wrapped in pink pajamas, like it was Christmas morning in the South Europe. "Who are you?" the little lady on barefoot beside the man, asked.
"I am Spartaaaa!" but it did not come from my mouth, it came from behind. I turned back, and suddenly a deep feeling of emptiness engulfed me and the universe. I was sitting alone on a small planet like the cover of the little prince. The universe itself is silent.
"But where is the girl, I have to find her still!" Could it be that she is the barefoot girl? I hardly see here at the video store anymore. And who was that metal wolf behind her the other day?
It was neither day nor noon, it was just somewhere between before nighttime and before catterpillars went to sleep. I was exhausted. The light in my eyes are starting to dim. The girl was just a memory from the desert. Or is it dessert? Did I first find her in a cake? Or was she covered in cake? Cream? She was creaming? Cream flowing down her oyster?
Blasphemy.
I woke up in the middle of the desert. It was winter. Alone came a child, unforgiven, the sound of water makes her dream although there was no water and it was morning. "Do you know the way to Ix?" I asked.
"Ix is right over there!" she said, pointing just before North.
We walked pass each other and suddenly I felt empty again. It was not a kid but a mere phantom, so it's time to drink the can of coke zero I have been keeping for the last five years. Cold sugar cola streamed down my throat, and it was good. Mistakes were made in the past.
Promises broken.
Lies told.
Summers spent.
Long, long days, that become nothing.
and yet ther
...to be continued
