Welcome once again viewer! You seem to have stumbled back into my grasp. With good reason too, for I thought it just couldn't end like that. You, laying dead on the table top of some run down diner? Oh, you didn't know you died? Well then, interesting discovery. You have entered, once more, The Theater of Broken Minds and Raped Spirits. Your life, on a screen.
And with that out of the way...
Let our scene...
Fade in.
Static. The sound of static fills your ears, crackling and crackling without so much as a second of silence. Not so much, as a single, solitary moment, of peace. Peace, that's the goal, right? The endgame that everyone hopes to achieve by war and bombs and hatred. Peace is the primary objective, so all of that can be forgiven, right? That's a well thought out idea, is it not?
Oh, right.
It isn't.
Open your eyes.
The sound of static slowly fades away, drowned out by the pleasant conversation mixed with the hustle and bustle that you'd come to expect from a diner. The same table top greets your eyes, for some reason putting you at ease. I can see it on your face, this all too familiar, is it not? In fact, it's down to almost a science. Placing my hand in front of your face, I begin to count backwards from five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
And just like that; she's here. The same waitress, the exact apron, the same order. Smiling at me, you shake your head no, and push the mug toward the center of the table. Good. Your eyes wander around the dining room, seemingly losing themselves in every separate intricacy that you come across. Focus, you need to focus. Listen to the sound ofmyvoice.
While I trail off, each word quieter than the last; your eyes return to what they were previously doing. Exploring every aesthetic opportunity that presents itself, you meander like a child in a candy store, scoping out everything that is offered. Finally, your eyes lay themselves to rest upon one sight, a sight that makes you take a deep breath and forces your blood to run cold.
She's back.
Sitting in a chair around a small, circular table, she smiles at you. Her pupils dilate while as she takes a drag of her cigarette, the smoke she blows out seemingly coming right back at her. Still, I speak words that you don't want to listen to, my mouth silently moving from your perception. You, oblivious to my demands for attention rise, eyes fixed on the woman doing nothing more than looking in your direction and smoking. You limp your way to her, dragging one foot behind the other. Not in pain, no. You can't even feel the leg at all.
It won't move, won't cooperate, because it knows what you're doing is foolish.
Approaching her table, you smile that cocky grin you give when you think you're going to score. Sliding into an empty seat, you stare at her and she stares back. Neither of you move, neither speak. Occasionally, she breaks eyes contact to focus on making sure the ashes off the cigarette make it safely into the ashtray.
"Hello," you muster at last.
She doesn't respond or make any effort to look like she acknowledged your word. Looking down at the table, you can see the reflection of a tear in her eye off the light that hands at an angle some ten feet away. Leaning in to check on her, you feel her grip appear and tighten on your hand, forcing it down onto the table, palm up. The cigarette still pressed between her lips, she drives her head down, and extinguishes it on your wrist. The embers burrow downward, causing a burning sensation in your veins.
Suck it up, buttercup.
Maybe, you can beg for peace. Protest in the streets for equality, and the other self destructive activities you do in search of enlightenment.
Or, maybe not.
At last, she tosses the scrap away, its damage leaving a bloodied, purple red burn mark.
Now, see what happens when you don't listen to me?
![[-]](https://xwf99.com/images/portal2/collapse.gif)
The following 1 user Likes Jessie-ica Diaz's post:
