Attention: This is Your Life

Few words to describe his movements. An anything but non-descript creature, impervious to the realm that is reality, regarding the world as casually as a latent sloth, acting on a whim. Behind the pall of a violet tint, he looks out on the world, sloping, thinking, reacting, never acting.

Across the tile he moves, an energetic lope carrying his short, slightly husky frame. Never tiring from the exertion, constantly searching for a purpose to alleviate his monetary burden. Whether the debased exterior front he attempts to purport is in fact a reality or a misguided attempt to recapture a time of innocence and honest happiness is lost to the human eye.

Entering the Eden of the electronics wing, marveling at the gadgets, associating happiness with visual stimulation, he rifles through the empty cases, searching for the next emotional crutch. It must be in there somewhere. If it doesn’t exist, what would there be to do?

But what of him in later times? A crutch is temporary is it not? How long is it deemed necessary to maintaining one’s well being. Four to six weeks at best, he can’t survive beyond that? Can he? What will he do?

College is a logical choice. His friends deem it a ready choice for themselves. He is just as good as them, disreputably so at times. How else could one exist? Following others was as good a plan as there was likely to be. Time could only tell.

College would never appropriate a proper serving of attention for this one though. It would leave him at home wondering what to do next, where to spend the next check. What is one’s future? A time much later than right now. A time that will be dealt with when it arrives. He withdraws himself from that world, hoping to establish a reason to exist, constantly searching for what makes him an equal to those around him.

His two roommates, both mildly successful. In the least an example of what responsibility in adulthood represents. A sort of base guideline for how not to fail. Follow the leader and one is given a better path to success. A simple formula.

Yet he fails to grasp the formula. Algebra never did accommodate him well. He fails the course, forced to drop out rather than take a straight F. Yet, without notice. He fails to tell those in his life that he has left, he leaves, uproots, forgets his responsibility, denial beleaguering his mind, forgetting all past debts, moving on to bigger and better things. They are smaller.

He notices a blight on the wall. A small discolored spot on the paint. It’s a stubborn little watermark, one that had escaped the conformity of the rest of the world. Deemed itself worthy of independent existence, doing whatever it could to maintain such independence. Yet, for whatever cause it slowly becomes ignorant of the white around it. To the blight, the entire wall is a strange off white. To the blight, the entire world was a blight, decrepit in its brilliance. Of course he didn’t see this. He saw a blight on the wall, content to let it stay, too lazy to paint over it.

He will end his time in a shallow, denial littered position, unable to view the world around him and incapable of owning up to the responsibility that his existence there in requires. He will be left without in the world, forever trying to establish oneself in a world that doesn’t exist.

Of course, in the world of his personal Eden, only one thing matters. He found the game, patting himself on the back as he sauntered to the counter, proud of his accomplishment, eager to spend the money he will some day cherish. He found his crutch.