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Moth

21 Dec

Tiredness starts to envelop me, eyelids heavy, as if a piano was tied to a lash and dropped at 50 feet. I lie in the recovery position and wait for the sinking feeling to dissipate. Stomach churns, skull burns and there is still less memory then usual. I come to the conclusion this is it, how it should be, how the world turns and juts, so I wait. A moth beats at the window feverishly craving the light bulb that hangs over me, new fangled, long lasting, colour of warmth drained from it. I should be somewhere, other then here, people relying on me to wake up, walk out and help them through their day. Not today, not another day, so incompetent and incomplete, inefficient in every way, shape and form, a whole blank generation, walking on their coffee filled knees. If I stay like this forever could I turn to stone then sand and float away on the breeze.

So I stand up, sway left and then right and take a foot forward. Back into the fold, back to earning, no learning and we all do it over again. Hahaha.

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Posted by on December 21, 2011 in fiction, flash fiction, Photography

 

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