Thursday, 21 January 2010
On a gloomy monday afternoon
It was a gloomy Monday afternoon. The sky was overcast with thick clouds as black and diabolic as hell.
Chayphee got out of his bed, lighted a cigarette, and ran his tongue along the back of his teeth. It was thick and unclean. And it tasted funny too.
As he smoked from the cigarette, he blew ringlets into the air and observed them disappear.
Finally, he got out of his bed and decided to wash up.
He surveyed around to witness large heaps of clothes strewn carelessly across the room.
Nothing seemed right. Nothing was right.
But, it was not the best of times to judge, let alone clean the room.
Once inside the toilet, as he sat on the pot, lazy thoughts ran but one caught his mind: what next?
He had stayed this way for the past two months. Doing nothing. Just sleeping nights and days away, interrupted only by those few moments for quick meals.
Somewhere, along time, he had lost purpose in his life. Where did I go wrong, he would ask himself.
What is the purpose of living?
Meaningless.
Life was meaningless for him now.
He would walk into the streets and see people laugh with mirth. It scared him: Laughter roaring into the emptiness of living. What next?
On this particular morning, he took a shower, shaved his chin clean, and wore a clean set of his favorite clothes.
As he set himself upon the noose, the purpose became clear. But he was too dead to live it...
Chayphee got out of his bed, lighted a cigarette, and ran his tongue along the back of his teeth. It was thick and unclean. And it tasted funny too.
As he smoked from the cigarette, he blew ringlets into the air and observed them disappear.
Finally, he got out of his bed and decided to wash up.
He surveyed around to witness large heaps of clothes strewn carelessly across the room.
Nothing seemed right. Nothing was right.
But, it was not the best of times to judge, let alone clean the room.
Once inside the toilet, as he sat on the pot, lazy thoughts ran but one caught his mind: what next?
He had stayed this way for the past two months. Doing nothing. Just sleeping nights and days away, interrupted only by those few moments for quick meals.
Somewhere, along time, he had lost purpose in his life. Where did I go wrong, he would ask himself.
What is the purpose of living?
Meaningless.
Life was meaningless for him now.
He would walk into the streets and see people laugh with mirth. It scared him: Laughter roaring into the emptiness of living. What next?
On this particular morning, he took a shower, shaved his chin clean, and wore a clean set of his favorite clothes.
As he set himself upon the noose, the purpose became clear. But he was too dead to live it...
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