needmorecreativity
It happened as I was sitting right here on this very spot. I was staring at nothing in particular -- nothing at all, really -- when it occurred to me:
"I'm here. I'm really here, and this isn't just a figment of my imagination."
But now that it's nothing more than a mere memory, a thought among many others, I wish that it was real once more.
Yellow t-shirt, short denim shorts, red suspenders, and a pigtail on one side.
And of course, there's Togepi.
I didn't know what to say at first... no, I didn't know what to THINK at first. All I could do was stare with eyes as wide as the moon. He still wore that white suit, kept crisp and clean even after all these years, but that's not what shocked me. Not even the fact that he was in a wheelchair. What I couldn't stop staring at was his face; half of it was concealed by bandages that wrapped around his forehead, and the visible part where I could see the smile that I knew so well. Despite everything that happened, it was one of the things that never changed.
All that separated us was a wooden desk. It may have been made of mahogany, but I probably would have never guessed at the time. She just kept on talking while I kept on wishing that the laws of physics would make an exception so that I'd be able to flip it right into her face without touching it then and there.
Every single day. It never changes. Red shirts, green shirts -- hats that match. Big brown shoes. They never seem to shave their facial hair. White gloves. Denim overalls.
They're always dressed to fit the part, but they never seem to bring their toolbox.
Pizza was his favourite food. Every single day, he'd pick up the phone and dial that number that he knew like the back of his hand. "The usual," he'd always say to the person on the other side of the line; that being everything but the olives. But one box every day was still not enough to satisfy his hunger. Despite his lack of money and his ever-growing tab, he'd order another one, or walk to the diner down the street for a strawberry sundae. He'd walk out of his abode without leaving a single crumb or crust as proof of his love for pizza... except for the pizza boxes scattered here and there.
He was a tall fellow. Every time I saw him, I could have sworn that apart from his black tailcoat, he was only made of skin and bones, almost like a skeleton. Whenever I saw him, he would always smile knowingly at me. It was strange... It's as if he could read my mind. Nevertheless, I always smiled back... albeit a little nervously.