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I stride, down the street, same sights, same sounds, the same insipid expressions of death from the persons I approach, no excitement. Returned from a day of education, well that’s what they call it; I still wonder when they will teach me something I want to know, another 6 hours wasted, nothing to anticipate, my life’s been nothing but a slide of terrible fortune and nothingness, ever since I breached upon this world of devastation. Day after day, the same repeated scenes, the same unhappy faces, the same beats repeated over, and over in my head, check the mail – nothing, never has been, never will be. This life is a CD that has been stuck, playing through a cycle from A to B, from A- B, I think of this CD, as blank, with nothing on, like my life, nothingness, nothing to anticipate, nothing to want, nothing to love.
At school the identical repeated teaching techniques, the same repeated shouting, nothing but tasteless and featureless images play through my mind. I return home, nothing to want, nothing to do, I sit, like I used to, playing my thoughts through my head, trying to explain my meagre, pitiable life form. Nothing. Put on the TV, nothing but War, nothing but murders, nothing new, same old –same old. The same depression lurks into the room – a tear rolls down my face, it shreds my face along it way down, I have no idea, yet I did not question. Hours of thought ran through my mind, I mumbled gently at each thought, I didn’t care; no one could mock me for my deprived contemptible excuse for an existence.
I had been sitting there, in the corner, on the stool, for days; I didn’t comprehend at the time. I spoke to myself, no one else would want to pay attention, no one else could understand. Even I couldn’t understand entirely myself. I knew that nobody loved me, nobody even cared, I watched the spinning lights as I collapsed onto the ground. Days passed, some days I unfastened my eyes, only to close then instantaneously, from the trepidation, I had of myself.
I watched old videos, of myself, I couldn’t understand, how I had developed into this being, this being, who sleeps unconsciously, who is self important, and has never been loved. I had the urge to compete in a game; maybe it could create an artificial grin upon my lonely, empty, bewildered face. In goes the latest annual football simulation, I stole from the local gaming store, I do not feel proud, I want to be noticed, but I am to weak to compete, with everyone, with anyone. The controller slips from my palms, I was in no frame of mind to compete. Not even gaming – my favourite pastime could save me from my destiny… death. Controller makes a ‘thud’ as it hits the floor, the analogue stick snaps, aggressively, in a fit of rage, I hurl the controller through the windowpane, onto the street. I couldn’t care less, not about the controller, about my life, nothing could save me.
I switched on the television, nothingness. Last night’s comedy replicate, last years sporting events, a history programme, and some inexcusable agriculture show, I remembered from Saturday. Living in the past, all of them. I couldn’t think about my past, I couldn’t even remember, but wait, breaking news story, local man discovered deceased in his apartment, no one knew him, and he was no one. I slipped into a third person perspective, the horror that crept onto my face, the complete and utter shock, but how could I be dead?
Finally this crooked, twisted nightmare of events had come to an end…. I woke, I was almost distressed to discover myself alive.
I laced up my shoes, despite being almost sub-conscious I stepped onto the cold, hard street. I stumbled across the curbs, on one occasion I slipped onto my chin, cracking my jaw, and penetrating my skin… I awaited the pain, I awaited the laughter of bystanders, laughter approached my sensitive ears, no pain though, no pain. The pain will always be inside. I scrambled, like an deer on ice, in order to get onto my feet. I stood. Looked around, same sights… same soun… was that a scream? I ran to the foundation of the shriek, a diminutive alcohol place, by an elongated, murky passageway and the neighbouring office block.
Again, a scream. I stepped into the hazy, alcohol joint, two men stood, guns in hands, they shouted at me, I think. The woman behind the counter looked nervous, but carried on serving the finest shots of Bell’s whiskey, in fear of torment. The men, their mouths were moving, but the sound, the sound, was almost opaque, I could hear the muffling of their deep, cold, voices, yet nothing. Time froze, I almost felt as I was the men… the bearded man, who held the shotgun, with the gloves, and the jacket that slid neatly over his black puma pullover. He reminded me of someone, someone I knew.
I regained awareness in my own body, I looked downwards, the end of a beard, no gun, but a blue jacket that slid neatly over a black puma pull… the other two men were still there, they were real, however, the bearded one was much like me, trapped, weak, needy of attention. His piercing eyes, tore through my stubbed, hard skin, they pointed the firearm at the woman, I didn’t think, I didn’t have time. I leapt up onto the saloon stool – onto the counter, slipped on a pint mat, the ashtray flung into the smoke filled air.
As gallons of blood poured from my corpse, empty of a soul, I was transported into my home, injuries were non-existent. Back to my stool, where the TV flickered, emerging from the black and white dots, was the tavern, the lady, was safe, the two men in ‘cuffs, me – on the floorboards. My name appeared on the monitor, I received recognition. My existence had come to a graceful end, with a climax I couldn’t expect, I live with the many souls from history, these people I had never heard of, and they were just like me. This place, I enjoy.
When the weak, become heroes…
Cheers
At school the identical repeated teaching techniques, the same repeated shouting, nothing but tasteless and featureless images play through my mind. I return home, nothing to want, nothing to do, I sit, like I used to, playing my thoughts through my head, trying to explain my meagre, pitiable life form. Nothing. Put on the TV, nothing but War, nothing but murders, nothing new, same old –same old. The same depression lurks into the room – a tear rolls down my face, it shreds my face along it way down, I have no idea, yet I did not question. Hours of thought ran through my mind, I mumbled gently at each thought, I didn’t care; no one could mock me for my deprived contemptible excuse for an existence.
I had been sitting there, in the corner, on the stool, for days; I didn’t comprehend at the time. I spoke to myself, no one else would want to pay attention, no one else could understand. Even I couldn’t understand entirely myself. I knew that nobody loved me, nobody even cared, I watched the spinning lights as I collapsed onto the ground. Days passed, some days I unfastened my eyes, only to close then instantaneously, from the trepidation, I had of myself.
I watched old videos, of myself, I couldn’t understand, how I had developed into this being, this being, who sleeps unconsciously, who is self important, and has never been loved. I had the urge to compete in a game; maybe it could create an artificial grin upon my lonely, empty, bewildered face. In goes the latest annual football simulation, I stole from the local gaming store, I do not feel proud, I want to be noticed, but I am to weak to compete, with everyone, with anyone. The controller slips from my palms, I was in no frame of mind to compete. Not even gaming – my favourite pastime could save me from my destiny… death. Controller makes a ‘thud’ as it hits the floor, the analogue stick snaps, aggressively, in a fit of rage, I hurl the controller through the windowpane, onto the street. I couldn’t care less, not about the controller, about my life, nothing could save me.
I switched on the television, nothingness. Last night’s comedy replicate, last years sporting events, a history programme, and some inexcusable agriculture show, I remembered from Saturday. Living in the past, all of them. I couldn’t think about my past, I couldn’t even remember, but wait, breaking news story, local man discovered deceased in his apartment, no one knew him, and he was no one. I slipped into a third person perspective, the horror that crept onto my face, the complete and utter shock, but how could I be dead?
Finally this crooked, twisted nightmare of events had come to an end…. I woke, I was almost distressed to discover myself alive.
I laced up my shoes, despite being almost sub-conscious I stepped onto the cold, hard street. I stumbled across the curbs, on one occasion I slipped onto my chin, cracking my jaw, and penetrating my skin… I awaited the pain, I awaited the laughter of bystanders, laughter approached my sensitive ears, no pain though, no pain. The pain will always be inside. I scrambled, like an deer on ice, in order to get onto my feet. I stood. Looked around, same sights… same soun… was that a scream? I ran to the foundation of the shriek, a diminutive alcohol place, by an elongated, murky passageway and the neighbouring office block.
Again, a scream. I stepped into the hazy, alcohol joint, two men stood, guns in hands, they shouted at me, I think. The woman behind the counter looked nervous, but carried on serving the finest shots of Bell’s whiskey, in fear of torment. The men, their mouths were moving, but the sound, the sound, was almost opaque, I could hear the muffling of their deep, cold, voices, yet nothing. Time froze, I almost felt as I was the men… the bearded man, who held the shotgun, with the gloves, and the jacket that slid neatly over his black puma pullover. He reminded me of someone, someone I knew.
I regained awareness in my own body, I looked downwards, the end of a beard, no gun, but a blue jacket that slid neatly over a black puma pull… the other two men were still there, they were real, however, the bearded one was much like me, trapped, weak, needy of attention. His piercing eyes, tore through my stubbed, hard skin, they pointed the firearm at the woman, I didn’t think, I didn’t have time. I leapt up onto the saloon stool – onto the counter, slipped on a pint mat, the ashtray flung into the smoke filled air.
As gallons of blood poured from my corpse, empty of a soul, I was transported into my home, injuries were non-existent. Back to my stool, where the TV flickered, emerging from the black and white dots, was the tavern, the lady, was safe, the two men in ‘cuffs, me – on the floorboards. My name appeared on the monitor, I received recognition. My existence had come to a graceful end, with a climax I couldn’t expect, I live with the many souls from history, these people I had never heard of, and they were just like me. This place, I enjoy.
When the weak, become heroes…
Cheers
bump
Did anybody read it? :s
Asher D wrote:
> The Streets, punk. The people who wrote the song with the same title
> as your topic. You know, that title you stole. yeah, that one.
That title the Streets stole too? Or the one Mike Skinner invented and threw back into the past so people would think that it was a not infrequently used expression that he too had merely picked up on for the track?
> The Streets, punk. The people who wrote the song with the same title
> as your topic. You know, that title you stole. yeah, that one.
That title the Streets stole too? Or the one Mike Skinner invented and threw back into the past so people would think that it was a not infrequently used expression that he too had merely picked up on for the track?
Asher D wrote:
> The Streets, punk. The people who wrote the song with the same title
> as your topic. You know, that title you stole. yeah, that one.
calm down, calm down, I know exactly what your on about, i just thought it would make an interesting topic name, for my story.
> The Streets, punk. The people who wrote the song with the same title
> as your topic. You know, that title you stole. yeah, that one.
calm down, calm down, I know exactly what your on about, i just thought it would make an interesting topic name, for my story.
The Streets, punk. The people who wrote the song with the same title as your topic. You know, that title you stole. yeah, that one.
Asher D wrote:
> And not one mention of The Streets? Blimey.
"I stride, down the street" first line, lol :d
> And not one mention of The Streets? Blimey.
"I stride, down the street" first line, lol :d
And not one mention of The Streets? Blimey.
I stride, down the street, same sights, same sounds, the same insipid expressions of death from the persons I approach, no excitement. Returned from a day of education, well that’s what they call it; I still wonder when they will teach me something I want to know, another 6 hours wasted, nothing to anticipate, my life’s been nothing but a slide of terrible fortune and nothingness, ever since I breached upon this world of devastation. Day after day, the same repeated scenes, the same unhappy faces, the same beats repeated over, and over in my head, check the mail – nothing, never has been, never will be. This life is a CD that has been stuck, playing through a cycle from A to B, from A- B, I think of this CD, as blank, with nothing on, like my life, nothingness, nothing to anticipate, nothing to want, nothing to love.
At school the identical repeated teaching techniques, the same repeated shouting, nothing but tasteless and featureless images play through my mind. I return home, nothing to want, nothing to do, I sit, like I used to, playing my thoughts through my head, trying to explain my meagre, pitiable life form. Nothing. Put on the TV, nothing but War, nothing but murders, nothing new, same old –same old. The same depression lurks into the room – a tear rolls down my face, it shreds my face along it way down, I have no idea, yet I did not question. Hours of thought ran through my mind, I mumbled gently at each thought, I didn’t care; no one could mock me for my deprived contemptible excuse for an existence.
I had been sitting there, in the corner, on the stool, for days; I didn’t comprehend at the time. I spoke to myself, no one else would want to pay attention, no one else could understand. Even I couldn’t understand entirely myself. I knew that nobody loved me, nobody even cared, I watched the spinning lights as I collapsed onto the ground. Days passed, some days I unfastened my eyes, only to close then instantaneously, from the trepidation, I had of myself.
I watched old videos, of myself, I couldn’t understand, how I had developed into this being, this being, who sleeps unconsciously, who is self important, and has never been loved. I had the urge to compete in a game; maybe it could create an artificial grin upon my lonely, empty, bewildered face. In goes the latest annual football simulation, I stole from the local gaming store, I do not feel proud, I want to be noticed, but I am to weak to compete, with everyone, with anyone. The controller slips from my palms, I was in no frame of mind to compete. Not even gaming – my favourite pastime could save me from my destiny… death. Controller makes a ‘thud’ as it hits the floor, the analogue stick snaps, aggressively, in a fit of rage, I hurl the controller through the windowpane, onto the street. I couldn’t care less, not about the controller, about my life, nothing could save me.
I switched on the television, nothingness. Last night’s comedy replicate, last years sporting events, a history programme, and some inexcusable agriculture show, I remembered from Saturday. Living in the past, all of them. I couldn’t think about my past, I couldn’t even remember, but wait, breaking news story, local man discovered deceased in his apartment, no one knew him, and he was no one. I slipped into a third person perspective, the horror that crept onto my face, the complete and utter shock, but how could I be dead?
Finally this crooked, twisted nightmare of events had come to an end…. I woke, I was almost distressed to discover myself alive.
I laced up my shoes, despite being almost sub-conscious I stepped onto the cold, hard street. I stumbled across the curbs, on one occasion I slipped onto my chin, cracking my jaw, and penetrating my skin… I awaited the pain, I awaited the laughter of bystanders, laughter approached my sensitive ears, no pain though, no pain. The pain will always be inside. I scrambled, like an deer on ice, in order to get onto my feet. I stood. Looked around, same sights… same soun… was that a scream? I ran to the foundation of the shriek, a diminutive alcohol place, by an elongated, murky passageway and the neighbouring office block.
Again, a scream. I stepped into the hazy, alcohol joint, two men stood, guns in hands, they shouted at me, I think. The woman behind the counter looked nervous, but carried on serving the finest shots of Bell’s whiskey, in fear of torment. The men, their mouths were moving, but the sound, the sound, was almost opaque, I could hear the muffling of their deep, cold, voices, yet nothing. Time froze, I almost felt as I was the men… the bearded man, who held the shotgun, with the gloves, and the jacket that slid neatly over his black puma pullover. He reminded me of someone, someone I knew.
I regained awareness in my own body, I looked downwards, the end of a beard, no gun, but a blue jacket that slid neatly over a black puma pull… the other two men were still there, they were real, however, the bearded one was much like me, trapped, weak, needy of attention. His piercing eyes, tore through my stubbed, hard skin, they pointed the firearm at the woman, I didn’t think, I didn’t have time. I leapt up onto the saloon stool – onto the counter, slipped on a pint mat, the ashtray flung into the smoke filled air.
As gallons of blood poured from my corpse, empty of a soul, I was transported into my home, injuries were non-existent. Back to my stool, where the TV flickered, emerging from the black and white dots, was the tavern, the lady, was safe, the two men in ‘cuffs, me – on the floorboards. My name appeared on the monitor, I received recognition. My existence had come to a graceful end, with a climax I couldn’t expect, I live with the many souls from history, these people I had never heard of, and they were just like me. This place, I enjoy.
When the weak, become heroes…
Cheers
At school the identical repeated teaching techniques, the same repeated shouting, nothing but tasteless and featureless images play through my mind. I return home, nothing to want, nothing to do, I sit, like I used to, playing my thoughts through my head, trying to explain my meagre, pitiable life form. Nothing. Put on the TV, nothing but War, nothing but murders, nothing new, same old –same old. The same depression lurks into the room – a tear rolls down my face, it shreds my face along it way down, I have no idea, yet I did not question. Hours of thought ran through my mind, I mumbled gently at each thought, I didn’t care; no one could mock me for my deprived contemptible excuse for an existence.
I had been sitting there, in the corner, on the stool, for days; I didn’t comprehend at the time. I spoke to myself, no one else would want to pay attention, no one else could understand. Even I couldn’t understand entirely myself. I knew that nobody loved me, nobody even cared, I watched the spinning lights as I collapsed onto the ground. Days passed, some days I unfastened my eyes, only to close then instantaneously, from the trepidation, I had of myself.
I watched old videos, of myself, I couldn’t understand, how I had developed into this being, this being, who sleeps unconsciously, who is self important, and has never been loved. I had the urge to compete in a game; maybe it could create an artificial grin upon my lonely, empty, bewildered face. In goes the latest annual football simulation, I stole from the local gaming store, I do not feel proud, I want to be noticed, but I am to weak to compete, with everyone, with anyone. The controller slips from my palms, I was in no frame of mind to compete. Not even gaming – my favourite pastime could save me from my destiny… death. Controller makes a ‘thud’ as it hits the floor, the analogue stick snaps, aggressively, in a fit of rage, I hurl the controller through the windowpane, onto the street. I couldn’t care less, not about the controller, about my life, nothing could save me.
I switched on the television, nothingness. Last night’s comedy replicate, last years sporting events, a history programme, and some inexcusable agriculture show, I remembered from Saturday. Living in the past, all of them. I couldn’t think about my past, I couldn’t even remember, but wait, breaking news story, local man discovered deceased in his apartment, no one knew him, and he was no one. I slipped into a third person perspective, the horror that crept onto my face, the complete and utter shock, but how could I be dead?
Finally this crooked, twisted nightmare of events had come to an end…. I woke, I was almost distressed to discover myself alive.
I laced up my shoes, despite being almost sub-conscious I stepped onto the cold, hard street. I stumbled across the curbs, on one occasion I slipped onto my chin, cracking my jaw, and penetrating my skin… I awaited the pain, I awaited the laughter of bystanders, laughter approached my sensitive ears, no pain though, no pain. The pain will always be inside. I scrambled, like an deer on ice, in order to get onto my feet. I stood. Looked around, same sights… same soun… was that a scream? I ran to the foundation of the shriek, a diminutive alcohol place, by an elongated, murky passageway and the neighbouring office block.
Again, a scream. I stepped into the hazy, alcohol joint, two men stood, guns in hands, they shouted at me, I think. The woman behind the counter looked nervous, but carried on serving the finest shots of Bell’s whiskey, in fear of torment. The men, their mouths were moving, but the sound, the sound, was almost opaque, I could hear the muffling of their deep, cold, voices, yet nothing. Time froze, I almost felt as I was the men… the bearded man, who held the shotgun, with the gloves, and the jacket that slid neatly over his black puma pullover. He reminded me of someone, someone I knew.
I regained awareness in my own body, I looked downwards, the end of a beard, no gun, but a blue jacket that slid neatly over a black puma pull… the other two men were still there, they were real, however, the bearded one was much like me, trapped, weak, needy of attention. His piercing eyes, tore through my stubbed, hard skin, they pointed the firearm at the woman, I didn’t think, I didn’t have time. I leapt up onto the saloon stool – onto the counter, slipped on a pint mat, the ashtray flung into the smoke filled air.
As gallons of blood poured from my corpse, empty of a soul, I was transported into my home, injuries were non-existent. Back to my stool, where the TV flickered, emerging from the black and white dots, was the tavern, the lady, was safe, the two men in ‘cuffs, me – on the floorboards. My name appeared on the monitor, I received recognition. My existence had come to a graceful end, with a climax I couldn’t expect, I live with the many souls from history, these people I had never heard of, and they were just like me. This place, I enjoy.
When the weak, become heroes…
Cheers