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Monday, October 16, 2017

GETTING A BUZZ OUT OF CROWDED LONELINESS. RIGINAL.

by riginal (writer), moe australia, February 14, 2017

Life doesn't pass by. It rushes and bypasses relationships in these sometimes over technological times. Sometimes.

GETTING A BUZZ OUT OF CROWDED LONELINESS. RIGINAL.

The fly-by-night thief stepped gingerly. Launched wide-eyed off the disintegrating window ledge. A quick nervous glance around. Amazing! Despite being attacked the night before, the elderly pensioner had placed the remaining half of a succulent chicken on the shabby table.A sudden abrupt curse. Wham!

The cheap metal alarm clock bounced off the remains of the left- over chicken. As if on cue the clock buzzed strident. Briefly. Flattened the intended target. The gravy- smeared intruder died on his side...legs scrabbling. Fell short of the target.The buzz from both participants rendered mute.

An impromptu tissue coffin configured hastily. Deceased dumped by a two-fingered arthritic pall bearer. Malice intended and satisfied. The seconded crematorium, a dying log fire, flared briefly in minute gratitude for the offering. Cremation complete, the slightly inebriated old man sighed. Picked up the disconsolate clock. Glass face long gone. Hands seemingly bent in extended protest at its involuntary participation. Sighed again. Muttered to himself, snorted, "my! how time flies. Or more to the point, how a fly's timing ended. Untimely."

Chuckled to himself. Grimaced. His wife would have laughed at that spontaneous aside. He cancelled the thought immediately. The executioner half-filled his smudged glass with cheap wine. Saluted nothing in particular, nothing in particular to salute. Cackled, wiped his lip, toasted the dying embers of the fire. "Anyone's time is up anytime fly." Suddenly, as if annoyed by his thoughtless musing, hunger interrupted. He tore the remaining leg off the lukewarm meal remains. Grunted down on it. A tear welled.

Missed her terribly. Her laugh. Her company. Creaked up. Wiped gravy off the grey- streaked stubble on his chin. Yawned. Gagged on the remains of the chicken. It clashed with the cheap bitterness of the wine. You tend to repeat yourself when you're alone. He did constantly. Maybe deliberately, perhaps to disturb the monotony of enforced silence. "Everyone's time is up sometime."

In memory of my dad. Like all the older generation without the shackles of modern technology. No time. He didn't bitch or moan. He was lonely. Go visit your parents while you still have the opportunity. Bye.



About the Writer

Bio...bioio...daylight come an i wanna go home. Come missa tele man tele me banana. A banana tele? Seriously would like to hook up with other comedy writers to engage.
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