Fair.

People were beginning to stare.

I couldn't blame them, we were clearly giving them something to stare at. Well, okay, I was giving them something to stare at. You were lying there dead. But whose fault was that? Well, okay...

It was mine.

I would like it if you could take a little bit of responsibility for your actions too, I guess you can't though. I already made you. By killing you, with a knife. In the middle of a street.

Not the best way to go, I'll admit. And maybe you deserved better, maybe a lot of people deserve a lot better, but that doesn't stop them from getting a whole lot worse than what you got.

 So, you know, there's that.

For the record buddy, I didn't want to have to kill you. And I think that we can agree that forgiving and forgetting was not an option. Well, I suppose I could have forgiven and forgotten. I could have, but I didn't. And just because I could have done something, doesn't mean that I have to do it. So I chose not to forgive and forget. I chose to stab you in the throat with a kitchen knife. And you deserved it. Allow me to remind you.

I was sitting in my apartment, and we were watching TV, when you knocked on the door. Oh! Hi neighbor! How are you doing today? What's that? You're taking your dog for a walk? And you want to take my dog for a walk too? What a nice favor! You remembered that I had hurt my leg the other day and you thought it would be nice to take my dog for a walk for me, that's so nice!

So you took it for a walk and you let it off it's leash. And it went running. And it died. Because it got hit by a fucking car.

You killed it.

The worst part is, you wouldn't even replace it. I mean, I wasn't overly attached to the fucking thing. But come on man, a life for a life. I asked you to replace the dog. You didn't. So now you're dead.

I think that's fair.

A House on a Hill.

"Let's sneak into that house over there!" She said.

"No!" He said

"Shhh, you don't want to wake people up." She said.

"We should just go home and hang out." He said.

"If we sneak into the house, I'll let you touch my boobs." She said.

"Okay." He said.

So the two kids ran up in the middle of the night, towards the house that no one lived in.

The house wasn't old, and it wasn't new. It was just a basic house on the top of a hill. And while no one lived in it, that wasn't exactly uncommon in the neighborhood. The only thing that was odd about this house was that it was at the top of a hill, all by itself. It was a strange thing for someone to build a house on the top a hill all alone in their town. And then disappear (as far as the kids knew) within a year.

Naturally, it was assumed the thing was haunted. And that the guy that built it had sacrificed his family to the devil. And the boy running up the hill assumed that the guy, after killing his family, went off to another town, to start another life, and build another house, on top of a hill just like this one.

He really didn't want to go up the hill. But he really wanted to touch and kiss the girl.

So he kept running up the hill with her.

She was running slower than she normally would, because the boy was a little chubby and out of shape. But she liked his heart. There are people like that in this world. People that are daring, bold, kind and courageous. Curious to try everything, never fooled by the flash of society. Constantly in awe of the spirit of the world. That was this girl.

She wanted to see if the house was haunted. Because it would add to the magic of her perception of the world. She was beginning to realize that as time went on, and the closer she came to becoming an adult. The more that the magic of her life was getting sucked out of her.

The boy wanted magic too, but to her, the boy was magic. He was smart, but simple. Always had a smile on his face, as if breathing in air was special enough for him. A simple, pure love of life and the world around him. Innocent, more innocent than her. He didn't understand how she knew the things that she knew.

She knew them, because she didn't have innocent blinders with what she saw. She was mature. And it was because of her maturity, that she needed to see magic in the world.

They finally got to the top of the hill. The boy was panting, and becoming self conscious of his sweating. Luckily his older brother had told him to take tissues in his pocket. He discretely wiped his hands and face off with the tissue. If she noticed, she didn't let him know.

They held hands. And they walked up to the front door. Now that they were level with the house, they could see that the front door of the house, in the moonlight, looked deep purple. And the door handle was gold. It looked like a special door. Which put it especially out of place, since the rest siding of the house was the generic grey paneling. Like every other house in town.

The girl grabbed the handle. And turned it. It wasn't locked.

The door didn't creak. It didn't squeak. It didn't anything. That made it worse for the boy. The door was supposed to make a creepy noise. The fact that it didn't made him feel even worse. He squeezed the girls hand.

She looked at him. He looked at her. They walked into the house, together, hand in hand.

There was nothing in the front living room of the house. Just a bare hardwood flooring. Not very dusty. No furniture. Nothing creepy other than the blue moonlight shining in through the window.

"Upstairs or downstairs?" She said.

"Upstairs" He said.

"Okay."

The reasons for his choice were two: Possibility of a bed upstairs was greater, and when did anything good ever happen in an abandoned basement?

They found the stairs that led to the second floor. There was a hallway with four doors. Two on the right, two on the left. As they got to the top. The door on the far left, creaked open. Slowly.

"You want to go in to that room, don't you?" He said.

"Yes." She said.

"Why?" He said.

"I guess I need to." She said.

"Okay." He said.

His hands were sweating and so were hers, it was uncomfortable, but neither were about to let go. As each step they took. The door seemed to creak a little more loudly, and a little faster.

There was a bed in the room. Must have been white, but it was glowing with a blue aura around it. Must have been from the moonlight.

She took him slowly to the bed.

"We can do it here." She said.

"Okay" He said.

They kissed, and it was awkward. And wonderful. As he got more used to the idea, he loosened up. They started to enjoy themselves. They laid down on the bed together.

She let him slowly take off her top, and she took off his shirt. They were kissing and giggling. Never saying a word. He thought he heard something. But it didn't matter. This was bliss.

There was something wrong about this room though. He couldn't quite place it. That's when she started coughing. As if something were trying to spurt from her mouth.

The door slammed shut, and he couldn't move off the bed. She wouldn't stop coughing. And that's when he noticed.

There was no window in the room.

False Hope.

All I wanted to do was leave, as each moment passed. As the conversation continued and I could hear my own voice partaking. All I was thinking about was emptying out my bank account and leaving. Unannounced, never to be seen from again. Adventure, freedom.The unexpected.


But instead I finished the conversation, and went back to work.Like I always do. Everyday. I sit there, staring at my work, empty faced, which was fitting since that's what my mind was: Empty.


I knew how I got here, I got here because what I'm wishing for doesn't exist. It's a dream, not the kind of dream where there is a hope that it will comes true. But more like a dream where dogs are talking and you're flying across to different planets and galaxies. A dream you can never wake up to. The dream of true freedom. Getting up each day and going wherever you want to go, because you want to go there. And that is the extent of your obligation.


No one gets that. It's just written about. A dream. A fiction. A false hope.


A false hope can make a person suffer more than anything else. It can eat away at the core of your essence, making a good life unbearable. It tears away at your very essence, Until you are empty, the only thing inside of you is that hope. No hope at all.


And then in from the back of the mind. A memory flashes: A man on a street somewhere. What kind of street? A highway. Driving past him. I see him. He was walking. With a bag. Nothing else. Something else. Something else about him. A smile. Yes. A sign in his hands too. What did it say? Anywhere

Who was he?

I looked at my face in the reflection of my computer screen. I was smirking. 


Maybe all a false hope needs is courage.

Legacy

I am getting old. I am getting weak. And there will be no one to follow me. Perhaps, it's for the best.

My eyes are getting sunken. And I can't lift my arms at the rate required to do even the most simple, mundane task.There was a time when people like me were revered. Celebrated. Treated like kings. And then for a time, like gods.

I won't miss it once it's all gone, I don't miss what has already left. The pressure to be godlike is left for the true gods. Maybe, that's proof that there are no true gods. I never see any of them around.

I am alone now, left with the task to leave nothing of us behind. To allow us to be forgotten. To allow the world to move on as if we never were. I was a moment, and the moment has passed.

What we gave the world, the world could take from anyone. What we were to people was and always will be; trivial. We are sorry for wasting your time. We are glad you learned your lesson.

Now leave me in peace. I will bother you no more with my manipulations.

I am old. I am weak. No one has followed me. It is for the best.

When we imagine metaphor.

While she was walking down the street, she couldn't think about anything else, no matter how hard she tried. She couldn't help herself from imagining all the buildings around her exploding in various ways. It wasn't malicious, perhaps this was an actual by-product of too many movies. She wished no violence or pain towards anyone. But she wanted to see the buildings blow up. And she wanted to run dramatically away from them as they exploded.

Life was getting pretty fucking boring. To say the least.

More and more as each day continued, she was beginning to hate everyone and everything. The little joys in life weren't filling the holes in her life as much as they used to. Not that she ever had many little joys to begin with. She hated animals, she hated children, she hated sex, she hated alcohol, she hated most conversations with other human beings. She hated the little things. And she couldn't for the life of her. Figure out what the hell the big things in life were supposed to be.

What are the big things in life supposed to be?

It was becoming disturbingly clear that life for most people was an amalgamation of a whole bunch of little things. With the occasional big sad thing mixed in there, only to get back to the little things as quickly as possible.

Her little thing was imagining buildings exploding.

She didn't know how to make it better, and she didn't know who to ask. Like most people that are slightly above average, but lack motivation to do things in life. She only had average people in her life to ask. And they all just wanted her to be average. There were no answers there. And no matter how many inspirational quotes she read or heard. She couldn't find it in herself.

Except when she was imagining buildings exploding.

When she was imagining buildings exploding, she felt as if she was capable of anything.

She is capable of anything. She just needs to find that in herself.