Several people came from several places to let this person know that love doesn't come everyday.
That you cannot just conjure up this feeling of being loved whenever you are not.
That sometimes you have to wait.
A very.
Long.
Time.
The scene ended with The french woman smoking her cigarettes.
And then coughing up one of her lungs.
I mean, it just bloodily splattered right in front of our hero.
The french woman extended her arm and flexed her finger to point at the organ, revealing her unshaved arm pits to our hero.
She opened her nicotine ridden lips and exclaimed.
"That is for you."
And everyone left.
So now.. let's join our hero as he sits in his chair with an unused lung right in front of him.
And... SCENE
The hero sits looking.
The lung does nothing.
The hero sits back and stops looking.
The lunch coughs.
The hero sits up in anticipation that the lung had said something to him.
hero. Pardon?
Lung. I wasn't talking to you.
hero. Oh...
The hero slumps back in his chair.
His eyes are looking around the room searching for anyone, but his head is not.
His head remains on the back most part of the chair he is sitting on.
He takes one final glance around the room.
Hoping there is some one there to just say at least one kind word.
That's all he really needed.
For someone to come up to him and say one nice thing.
"Nice hair."
"Nice Shoes."
"Nice Nails."
Any of these would suffice.
(Though he would be undoubtedly confused about the last one. He bit his nails, you see. And they are anything but nice.)
There is no one.
He slumps further down into his chair.
Leans his head back farther than it was earlier.
He looks up at the ceiling.
If no person on earth would share with him, perhaps he can rely on his creator.
His eyes search the ceiling.
For something.
For anything.
Nothing.
His eyes begin to hurt from the long illuminating bulbs that are supposed to imitate day light.
There's 13 of them.
He counted.
The one to the right of the door is burnt out and doesn't work.
He closes his eyes.
But remains awake.
This is his last plea.
Perhaps someone will purge through the door.
Anyone.
Someone from Mexico to say his teeth are crooked.
A young man from Denmark to point and laugh at his bad hair day he's having.
Or even a young nurse with a cooler to collect the once living organ on the floor to take back to the hospital for a transplant. (Not sure how much good it would do, though)
Nothing happens.
Nothing ever happens.
He wonders what he would do if someone did offer him help.
If his creator walked in the room and offered a hug.
Would he take it?
All signs point to yes. But he begins to re-evaluate his life.
Does he like being this way?
Does he enjoy the attention?
He has always been so fucking self less to everyone.
He has dealt with Selfish friends his entire life.
And he doesn't do it so he can later say, 'Hey buck-o. You owe me one.'
Not at all.
He does it because he loves his friends.
He loves them so fucking much.
He would do anything for him.
And the one time when he is desperate enough to ask for help... He sits there alone.
In a room.
With a tobacco infested lung on the floor.
The lung coughs again.
It has been coughing more and more lately.
Our hero smells something sour in the air.
Takes in a deep breath to try and analyze what it is.
He is cut off short.
With his eyes close and body remaining perfectly calm, his brain makes a realization.
The lung and he have been there so lung, waiting for someone- that they have successfully converted all the oxygen that was at there disposal into carbon dioxide.
The hero can't get a breath.
But he doesn't flail about and panic as you expect someone would.
He lays back there and allows the poisonous gas to infect his body.
Though his eyes shut.
He shuts his eyes.
He shuts his mouth.
His fingers turn from a soft clench fist into digits that seemingly hang by a string.
There is no more muscle tension in his body.
His blood has decided to rest at whatever spot they were at.
The lungs take a nap.
The brain takes out it's favorite book.
And hit heart watches T.V.
And our Hero dies.
And the lung on the floor coughs.
END
2 comments:
i have more to say but for now...
you had better invent a way to bring your hero back, i like him!
Post a Comment