Whippity Slip

For twenty years, much has been evident in this blurred field of vision. The bewilderment offered by uncertainty, even more by the unknown. Forever cloaked in a mysterious enigma of sugar-coated taffylike bittersweetness. Scrumptious goodness masking the acidic core of rage and despair.

Forever have I yearned for the transcendence of mind offered by much time dwelling in silence and solitude, steadily listening to the wind. At times a violent gale, though overlapped by the calmness of a summer breeze. The wind merely blows upon my soul, causing nothing else but a slight chill.

For a score have I been aware of everything, keen in almost all senses, my mind in perfect rhythm with every single thought, bubbling endlessly into a parallel universe.

For once, I honestly don't get it.

Kindled Sky

Darkness of the ceiling.

It started off with a vibration from under my pillow. I scoffed at my cellphone's alarm and got ready to doze off for a few more minutes.

I couldn't afford to be late this time. Strike three, and they'll be off with my head.

It was already 5 o'clock, and the sun was still seemingly fast asleep. Orange light from the lamp post crept across the front lawn, onto the window sill, giving me that weak sense of security at night. My room was chilly and dark; lifeless, let alone the tiny night light flickering in the corner to an eerie rhythm. Just like every morning, just the way I like it.

Breakfast was out of the question. A quick shower was on the agenda as I hurriedly prepared my daily belongings, zipping through the house. The tepid water was such sweet gratification in such a morning gone awry, making me forget why I even bother to wake up so early, why I even bother to earn for my own ass, why I even bother...period.

With the faucet's knob tightened, I snap back into reality.

Concluding my morning rituals, I bid the family farewell. Plugging in my earphones, I set off to the big city. Making a living can be tedious. It's like clockwork. Every day's a new day, but you know damn well it'll be the same.

I took the usual path towards the first part of my dawn trip. A short walk down the street, a quick jeepney ride, and an eternity of waiting at the bus stop.

Humming to Audioslave's Be Yourself, I kept my cool among the other irate morning travelers. I slowly closed my eyes and bobbed my head to the drumbeat of each verse; tapping my shoe to the distorted chorus. The song kept me at bay for a while, Chris Cornell was a lifesaver...but for how long? Feeling my fist clenched tightly for a whole twenty minutes with the song looped, I had reached my limit. I prepared to let out a yell of frustration, careless of whoever would fall victim to my noise.

The bus arrived...just in time.

For the longest two hours of my life, I was smothered in-between the bodies of hurried people, desperately squeezing themselves into the bus aisle. Noisy and whiny, incurring my piss-hatred by the minute. I don't know what the big rush is, it's not like their offices will leave them or anything. Jerks. Yes, the morning angst blurred my common sense in such a comical fashion.

Ah yes, the towers peeked from the horizon, signifying how damn close I was to getting to work. I put away my MP3 player, lazily rolling the phones around the metal body for safe keeping. I got ready to alight the bus.

A few passengers including myself slowly moved towards the exit, one by one onto the main road. I stared blankly at the steps, at the concrete, then to my right...

A truck careened into the side of the bus, toppling the mammoth automobile like a pile of wood. A flurry of sparks and flying debris sent everyone into a stampede of panic, turning the otherwise quiet morning into a riot.

I was still dazed, feeling a warm, piercing pain on my left arm. I dared not look.

I slumped down beside a concrete wall, clutching my left arm in fear. I stared at the morning sky in its bright orange hue, beckoning me into a fiery abyss, so lovely...

Next time, I'm having breakfast.

They call me Peaches

Kinetic Intelligent Lifeform Limited to Efficient Repair

The irony of it all