dansackett
They told me to manage what I could, but I had no idea what that was. When I was younger I could manage it all, but what now? What do I have control over? I want to manage things and people, but why would they stop and suddenly listen to me? I mean, if someone came and pat me on the shoulder just to tell me to stop doing something, I'm sure I'd say no. It's in human nature to avoid being managed, yet they want me to take control of what I can.
They can forget it.
We lived in a three level apartment, but I stood on the fourth staring down on the empty pavement. The sun was just coming up and Nancy didn't notice me sneaking away from bed. I swear, she never notices anything anymore. She's not my reason for this though, nor will I allow her to take the credit. Instead, I painted my message in the same yard I'll be landing in. Weed killer would reveal my deepest secrets in three days and finally the world would know that D.B. Cooper was in fact just regular old Jim Miller.
You took my money, world, but you'll never take my legacy.
Perhaps it amused me at first, the way it swung back and forth. I could have played with it for hours and not noticed that the time had been ticking just as fast as the pendulum itself. I guess that was the funny thing about time though. You never stop to realize that every second is a fraction of a minute, every a minute a fraction of an hour, and every hour a fraction of your entire life.
Life's just a world of fractions being wasted in every trivial thing you pursue.
I continued to let my yo-yo "sleep" and as it swung, I realized that I was just as awake.
The lightening covered the sky like fires in the clouds. I'm not gonna' lie, I was scared at first. Then mom grabbed me around the shoulders and said not to worry. She said that it was only daddy taking pictures of us from up there.
There was a violent sound coming from the kitchen. A woman was screaming and her window was open wide enough to hear it all. She sounded possessed, but in an odd way. We stopped shooting the basketball to see what the commotion was and when we looked through her kitchen window we realized that we'd made a mistake.
She wasn't being accosted like we'd assumed. She was screaming for joy.
Her boyfriend eyed us both and we scattered quicker than a pair of deer across the highway.
The man with the mega phone kept on screaming to dig faster. We didn't know what we were looking for or how much longer it would continue, but it was hot and we all hoped for the best. There were pieces of hope scattered through that dirt. Some rocks shined and my neighbors held them up with great pleasure for our overseer to inspect. I counted seventeen items thrown back in the dirt.
Thought she trusted me. Oh well.
No one dared too look in the furnace. No matter how loud I screamed or how much I kicked, they never looked, attributing the sounds to the age of the home. Every day I continue to kick and continue to yell and everyday they wonder what would happen if they had found me.
Most days it's absolutely endless. Java this, classes that, polymorphism, and encapsulation. I try to listen but then there's Facebook, there's E-Mail, there's Stumbleupon, there's everything better than Java. And then the clock strikes five thirty, the hand pauses, and we all grab our things, log off, and carry on through the cold night.
He had traveled from San Diego to Philadelphia, a one-shot flight in which he had eaten only a chicken breast. As he finally stepped off the plane and into the cool air, he lit his cigarette and felt the physical drain slowly vanish.
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writing since 2011 · 14 entries · 14 days shown up
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