Short story I wrote, maybe the start of a book?
“Looking back I never understood what he was thinking…”
He always acted as though he was scared of his own mortality. I don’t mean that he was scared to die; no one thinks they’re invincible. No, he was scared to live because he was mortal, to what extent I can only wonder. He never wanted to take a step in any direction. If he did he would worry for days, months, his whole life, whether he was making the right decision. He was trapped in a blender of thought within thought that had no off switch. Was he was wasting his time, was this making him happy or was it just a charade; completely oblivious to the flirtatious way he’d try to find direction, was riddled with half-baked ideas that could have made him happy.
“Who didn’t you understand?”
This led him to believe that the whole world was against him. No one wanted him to achieve because they hated him, and they hated him because of how much he could achieve? Motives I will never be sure of. All I do know is that throughout his life he had created a disturbing utopia for paranoid minds to feel secure. It wasn’t just an ideal, he wiped it from his forehead, and it cushioned the soles of his feet. He was the all singing, all dancing incarnation of paranoia.
I don’t give the guy justice. He was the closest thing I had to a brother and somewhere, in that warped mind of his, was human compassion and the means to act on it; though he was very seldom to do so. It was that human compassion along with his the hard injustice he felt he was dealt, that he saw me as his way out of the cesspool of an existence he’d crawled in to, and why he latched on to me so tightly through all of those years. A child with a balloon.
“Man, what did you say?”
How can you explain to a child that he cannot keep the balloon forever, when it makes him so happy?
It’s probably a good thing that he died that night.
“You’ve been acting so fucking weird recently.”
I wanted to use this day
I made a mental list
Instead, I waited for you