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Life As It Is

Life As It Is

By Remy86

He sits alone in the corner booth, considering himself lucky to find it empty when he first came in. Sipping away at his coffee, black as usual. Insomniac. Ironic. As if the ceasing of his caffeine intake would allow him to sleep any better. Sitting there for over an hour now, third cup down. Blending into the background, the aroma of the shop, of fresh grounds, grilled Panini's, and fresh baked goods, interrupted by the smell of the cheap perfume worn by the old lady eating breakfast with her husband three tables over.

He takes another sip, and wipes away the ring formed on the table by the cup. Thru the window the sun begins to rise, the city waking up. Leaving two dollars as a tip he tosses it next to the cup, beside the wadded napkin, he stands up and heads outside.

In the crisp autumn air, mist forms on his breathe as he buttons his coat. walking down the street, people pass by on their way to wherever they may be going. He thinks to himself of how often he's walked this same street. Leaving the diner. Passing the same shops. The record store, the comic shop, the nail salon, the mini mart on the corner. Everything the same. Nothing changes.

Seconds turn to minutes. Minutes to hours. Time speeds up, slows down. Another day passes...night falls...laying there on his bed he turns the TV off, turns it on again, stares at the blades of the fan as they spin, counting all the cracks in the walls, the clock is wide awake with the deafening tick, desperate for human contact, checking his phone in hopes that someone else is awake, he talks to himself; anything to make a sound. He lights a cigarette, his 'last one' for the hundredth time. Puff after puff, drag after drag, the ember glows and beats like a pulsating heart with every inhale. He sits up on the edge of the bed running his hands thru his hair before taking the final drag of his smoke and dropping in the empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor, what's left is extinguished by the few drops still left at the bottom. Getting up he walks to the window and opens it up all the way and takes in a few deep breathes. The cold air fills his lungs. Refreshing. It smells like snow. The few cars driving along the street do little to drown out the deafening silence. He closes the window halfway to allow the fresh air to circulate throughout the stuffy room.

You cant run from yourself, hide or escape. Reliving your sins, stuck in you mind. Day in day out, it turns into a personal hell. Stuck for the rest of your life. Eternal hell, here on Earth. Fire and brimstone the memories that burn. The Devil is yourself. Stupid actions are the Demons that push you along, what keeps you being the Devil, keeping you in hell. And in hell, worst thing is you're alone. Welcome to hell.

He wakes after two hours of sleep. Morning rays of sun pierce thru the blinds. For a moment there's that liberating time, between waking up and when you remember all that's wrong. Could last a few minutes or a few seconds. This morning, 3 seconds of bliss graced his mind. It would've been longer, but he blinked. Getting up, he washes his face and hands. Combs his hair; he doesn't bother to look in the mirror. The cold cereal he eats does little to quash any feelings inside him. Rejuvenation lacks. The day continues to drag on. The world passes around him. Existence, lacks.

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About This Story
7 Apr, 2013
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3 mins
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