He waited for an hour. Some telltale sign that the world was ending. Anything abnormal or significant, striking, remarkable, different. Meanwhile, far away, a girl was yanking on her shoelaces a million thoughts in mind, disdainfully wiping away the unwanted tears and silently cussing at her converses, blaming them for the parents that couldn’t or wouldn’t understand her. Blocking out any sound or reproaches from her head she fumbled around for that swiss army-knife of hers to fix her headphones (a piece of plastic kept popping out) before she remembered that she wouldn’t go out with them anyway: by principle she didn’t block out the sounds outside when she was walking on the streets, what if she didn’t hear the car that could kill her? or a bus that she would then miss? (she had trained ears and could tell a car from a heavier vehicle), it was also just a matter of principle. And then she cursed her clip-on-the-ears earphones for getting lost.
She was thinking about school which was creeping up on her slowly, she worried about what teachers she would have and, more importantly, who would be in her class. She could know but she was scared to find out because she knew that as soon as she looked the holidays would be a thing of the past and she would keep fretting until the day came. There was a swirl of thoughts and emotions going on in her head but all that could be seen from the outside was a frown.
Somewhere else a 10-year-old worried about petty things he would later laugh at while worrying about other things he thinks to mean more in the world but really don’t.
In another place a 7-year-old is dreaming of magic dolphins and Atlantis while kids lie dying in the streets or play soldier with real guns and live targets; while a man at work is thinking of work; while the world turns round and round and orbits the Sun; while the solar system has it’s own movement in the galaxy; which is slowly heading for collision with Andromeda and the universe keeps expanding it’s already infinite size… and while a boy waits. For an hour. For a sign.
A sign that shows an ending, that might indicate his passing, that might communicate his feelings, that could establish the reason for him. He looked across the water, for some melancholy in the sunset, but the sky burned pink innocent ignorance and the clouds fluffed like candy, the bridge gleamed with the last rays of sun and the city lit up with a peculiar beauty. There was nothing to announce, to proclaim, to protest against what was about to happen. And that’s when the boy saw the nature of life; more than greed, money, power, strength; life was about self-centredness. Life was all about Me.
But the boy was wrong, as are many; the answer is much simpler: the point in life, if there ever was one… is living.
So DragonSpark and I have decided to start a new project where I start the story, he continues it then passes it back… like ping pong, but with a story. Right now it doesn’t have an official name or category yet and there’s only one part to its so far: Canvas
On other completely unrelated news I like to not be reminded that school starts tomorrow, but then again some people have already started so I guess I’m lucky to still be on holiday.
Speaking of which I hold a firm belief that the year really starts in September and I think calendars and the definition of “new year” should change accordingly, then everyone would start at the same time whether school, jobs, series… I’m not sure what else could be annual except for some magazines…