I left to get coffee. I don’t even drink coffee, but I felt that it was appropriate. It fit my mood.
Scratch that, I actually went out for ice cream. No, nevermind. Coffee was better.
Walking down the crowded streets, my mind began to wander. I dreamed of abstract concepts; things that even the most renowned artist would approve of. What can I say? I tend to be a visionary when it comes to things that don’t exist. Like me. I might be kidding. Back to the walk.
I began to imagine certain people and objects shifting to become various things that tickled my fancy.
A baby in a stroller became a crime-fighting robot that promotes nutritional values. An elderly man became a telemarketer with a voice twelve octaves higher than a choirboy. The sewer rat became a personal butler that obeyed my every whim regardless of how ludicrous or abstract it was. And you are already familiar with my level of abstractness. That bastard quit when he found out that I murdered his wife.
As I continued to pace the boulevard, I realized that people were staring at me. For while, I couldn’t figure out what was wrong, so I assumed that I just looked especially appealing that day. But I eventually noticed that the awkward glares were because I was saying all of this out loud, and apparently strangers don’t take very kindly to my rants about rat butlers and things of that sort.
Once I mastered the art of not thinking out loud, I resumed my stroll to the ice crea—coffee shop. I wish I had a Sunday.
Once I arrived, I swung open the door with excitement, only to be greeted y a whole host of morose, coffee-drinking, corporates. I should have gone with the ice cream.
Seeing all of these pitiful people only made me feel worse about my situation. It felt as if I were the only one with any type of imagination at all. I was so ostracized it was scary. What I wanted more than anything was a way to fit into this illogical world that we live in.
I kept peering back at the woman behind me in line. She was rather striking. She had a strange look on her face, as if she were imagining things. I turned to her and asked “are you alright?”
She responded “oh, yes. I’m just thinking about what it would be like to grow you own coffee beans. It would make this so much easier.”
There was a short pause, and then I calmly responded “you’re a fucking weirdo; I don’t have time to deal with your obviously severe psychological issues.”
I just want some god damn ice cream.
3 comments:
Overall cool piece, i like your details about imagination, the opening two sentences did a great job setting the tone for the rest of the piece. If i were to change one thing it would be add a little more direction to the piece. I had no idea about the pieces purpose or what impact this trip to the coffee shop meant to you. Overall its excellent and ambiguous, Good job.
-Joey aka Jdubbs
I really like your ending, and how you "stick it" to the suit wearing people. I think your story is really unique and stays true to your personality 100%. Though there is not really a point to the peice i think thats ok because we get to know the author. The only thing is that i would show more detail and not 'tell' as much when you talk about all of the pitiful coffee drinking people.
Overall, I think you did a really good job. In my head I kept hearing Mr. Oetter reading it which was a little weird. I was a little confused and didn't see the point of the walk to the coffee shop or what you were thinking, but when I finished reading it made more sense. Your personality really comes through. Nice job.
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