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Swing Creek Swing
James sat in a cold entrance, pondering the little things that the regular person overlooked until the destructing truth dawned upon their insignificant lives. This reality check sends those who discover it into a self-induced whirlwind of pessimism. Pessimism that is hidden throughout the day with a refreshing smile; Insert a joke and a laugh after said smile and one could appear normal or even overly zealous.
‘Everything that ever was, will be, or has been. . . Is perhaps a lie,’ James thought to himself.
Rushing, pumping blood. James could feel it all swimming through his system. Dotting, pricking, numbing. He tried to think about it intensely, but the pain never showed up. All James needed was this nonexistent pain but pain doesn’t have a way of keeping a schedule. No, someone forbid James be happy, even if it meant finding happiness in something others dared not to feel. Damn all to hell if he couldn’t feel it! Why? Why can’t James feel it? What was lost not-so-long ago that cannot be resurfaced here? What cannot find it’s way to James through this darkness, this ever eternal hell?!
Deeper, deeper yet. Rising, pouring, numbing. Yet, the pain still did not come. This cold, numbing feeling was all that James had now. He got up and walked towards his closet.
‘Swing, creek, swing,’ James thought. He stepped up on a stool and turned around.
“But of course.” James said aloud to a room of nothingness, to a household of loneliness. To the shadows that plagued his mind. “Why would pain want to find me if I cannot even find myself?” He leaned forward.
Swing. Creek. Swing.
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