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A while ago when you were born you woke up into a world of doctored yellow lights reflecting off pale slime green puke pink tiles fuming with vapors of dried up lemon Lysol and would have shivered cold if your wrinkly hands hand had plopped down onto the floor instead of being wrapped into a blanket and weighed on a shiny metal machine mirroring artificial suns into your pupils.

Sometimes, after a shower, and it's winter now, with black mornings & blacker coffee, I really wonder if cologne covers that infant stink that I- that we- all still carry around like dandruff in hair it just keeps coming back. I take cold showers to keep my skin & hair from drying out but when I step dripping out of the shower and onto the bathroom scale there has got to be some Freudian unconscious psychoanalytic monster creeping around immobile memories in a place too dark to see. A place that gives off gut feelings instead of emotions. And that monster is tinkering back there waiting to do harm with the fact that I weigh myself & pretend like those doctors didn't rip me out & scream my number to everyone in that room.

I'm in shape and don't feel bad when I weight myself. I smell fierce as Giorgio Armani himself and only feel a little bad for having bad teeth. High school braces didn't do much for me.

I open the door and step out into an empty kitchen where I stand. I'm not thinking much. Every day I make eggs. Five or six, sunnyside up. I don't know what it means but I've been saying that for years. Sunny side up. Everyone seems to know what it means.

Anyway, I feel like having cereal today but don't have anything good. There's some Raisin Bran, but I mean cereal with marshmallows. So I go outside and the wind blows snowflakes through my still damp hair. There's not much snow but a lot of wind & I walk early to the Kroger that's a block away. Inside employees outnumber us morning customers. I walk to the cereal aisle & take my hands out of my pockets.

Then I forget I'm me. I'm standing here now, hands back in my khaki pockets eyes jumping from cereal box to box but not focused. I see the colors but why doesn't it make sense? My memories, I know who I am but I can't remember my name or gender. My arms hang immobile and I can't tell if my breathing has stopped, Christ, these colors are swarming through me, my head is swimming.

A woman walks past me as a melted drop of snow slides off my hair then down my face. She walks without looking up and I don't see her face but I'm awake again and shuffle a few steps down to a different selection of colors. Boxed colors, is that what they're selling? Okay think, what am I looking at? Cereal. Breakfast food, okay. From above an industrial vent blows heat onto my shoulders and I step further down the aisle.

Whole grain blues, family sized reds, white on everything and numbers on the side. Numbers should make sense. I look at the numbers but how much food is 425 grams? The heat is getting to me and I must move I need to, so I pick up a box of Frosted Flakes.

At the self checkout the morning light is a little brighter and the machine rejects two of my dollar bills but sucks down the five. I walk past an employee who mumbles something about having a nice day but I look down and walk by through the automated doors. The blast of freezing snow wakes me up. I breathe deep as my body eases back into a smoother operation. I squint my eyes against the cold wind and try not to think. The Salvation Army has a ringer there to beg for change and I stop and punch open the trash bin lid and throw in the cereal, plastic bag & receipt included. I feel better but the bell ringing beggar has stopped to glance at me as I stand right next to her.

"Fuck cereal."  I said, "I wanted eggs anyway."

She rings & I dig the change out of my pockets and dump it into the red bucket. It seems natural but must have looked strange.

"How do you like 'em?" She asked. What a strange question.

"Sunnyside up, I guess."

I move to walk away as another shopper walks out carrying several plastic bags of groceries, and if two is a crowd I blend in with the crowd. I hear the ringer start again & walk back home until I hear nothing but the wind, feel my face numb and see the blinding white snow mount higher on all sides until all is black again.

:bulletblack::bulletgreen: This is a story about someone who experiences a lose of reality but doesn't know what to make of it. Even if people don't sit around meditating I think they are still very much connected & influenced continually by their past. Unconscious monsters like Pennywise the Clown shift around in the dim parts of out minds & tinker with the gears. We endure or enjoy the consequences. Some of those consequences might have meaning if you can interpret the symbolism & I'm talking about in daily life more than this story.

822 words

:bulletblack::bulletgreen:I'm interested in hearing any comments on this because I tried to make this pleasurable to read.

:bulletblack::bulletgreen:I wrote this in an impressionistic style that I've been working on so if you read this & take away a feeling instead of a definite narrative then you did it right. There is a story here but it has multiple angels open to interpretation. I know what I take away from the story but it is probably going to be different than what you take away, which in turn will be different than what the next person gets out of it.

Preview art comished from :icontwinchesscanceruos:

This is a really cool story! I like the idea :)

The first paragraph is somewhat difficult to read, due to the lack of punctuation. The descriptiveness is good though, it creates awesome imagery. Maybe break it up a bit, so it's not one big run on sentence. The other thing I noticed is that you use "&" instead of "and" a lot, which takes away from the story a bit.

My favourite is the fifth paragraph, I don't know why I like it so much, but I do!

Anyways, this is a good story, even though I'm not sure what exactly is happening. I like it though!
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Submitted on
December 8, 2012
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