Chapter 1
Evening’s are getting brighter,
And my worries seem a little lighter.
Yet, despite the sun’s increasing smile,
I can’t help but sulk when walking down the isle.
This fire in my soul I have....
He couldn’t finish the poem. “Have..Why did I go with a word so hard to rhyme?? Idiot.” he cursed to himslef as he sighed, looking out the window in front of his desk. The evenings were indeed getting much brighter.
He glanced at his laptop, where the taskbar clock was showing 6PM. Yet, the sun was still subtly illuminating the concrete jungle, creating a rather cosy view. For this particular moment, he felt relieved and pleasantly empty. No good, no bad, just empty. And he was content: he needed that for a while now.
“Oh, how great would it be not to worry about anything”, he thought to himself. And wasn’t he right. He’d look at other people with an irrational hate that stemmed from envy he couldn’t help.
“All yhey need to be content with themselves is a nice looking car and someone to drag into the bed. Nothing else matters. But there are higher things out there, can’t you see? Worry, God damn it!” he’d yell in his thoughts until he’d find himself sulking again.
Everyone around him seemed happier than he was. Even the people that had considerably less than him. There’s one thing they had taht he didn’t and probably never will - other pepole. He always thought he was a loner - other people were stupid and he hated them with haste. But as time stopped jogging and went into its usual gallop as it always does once you pass your twenties, and he saw people... well... having other people, he realised just now how lonely he really was. A feeling that was playing hide and seek with him and decided to do a “peek-a-boo” at the worst possible moment.
He needs other people, he craves other people. But in the end, they’d all turn their back on him. Time invested in making himself unlikable seemed to be paying off.
“We tolerate you and the utter nonsense you speak. But it’s getting utterly hard,” they’d say to him as they’d turn their backs on him when he needed them the most.
Other people are idiots. But he needed them now more than ever.
His cigarette was now burning his fingers and he jumped up, caressing his middle finger and essentially kicking the table out of anger. The sun was nowhere to be seen by now, and he grew dim.
