Subsidized (Short Story not Finished)

Subsidized

I suddenly wake up, un-settled and just lie there.  Both eyelids fluster to the blinking of the sun’s majestic rays that shine through my dusty, over used blinds.  I lie there steadily comfortable and compiling under the ultra-violet radiation.  My skin starts to tingle as the grainy hair on my stubborn arms begins to rise to signal the beginning of my repetitive morning.  But yet again, just like every other day before work, I turn to my left, to face my deteriorating nightstand, which holds my digital alarm clock.  I notice its beauty, completely moss green with 3 self-contained buttons that our satin black and then the white numbers reading 5:55.  Exactly 5 minutes before my alarm will go off to start my day.  So for the next couple of minutes or few hundred second, I bask in the glow until it is finally to start my routine.  When the clock hits the dedicated time, I unravel the soft white sheets that are so delicately wrapped around my new lifeless body.  Right when I toss my sheets to the opposite side of my humongous queen size bed the alarm clock grumbles and lets out a blaring, waling siren that always pierces my ears and makes my vision turn from the sleepy and hazy early morning monotonous to the alert and just ready to go grind of everyday life.  Ready to start the day and definitely already to end it as well.  I switch it off an am tempted to un-plug it from my pale yellow apartment wall but I know that will only be detrimental and useless.  I’ll still wake up tomorrow at 5:55 no matter how hard I try.  I am, just like we all are, a slave to time.  It beats you down leaving you utterly tiresome needing this idea of rest to get on with the next day, the next year and blissfully on with the next life.  As time continues to tick, I panic.  I take my scattered, crusty sheets that i have not found time to watch and carefully re-make my bed.  Perfectly rectangle is the shape I intend to make.  The bed cover goes underneath, blankets and filler hide beneath the cushioned comforter.  Pillows get flipped; The two of them.  My brain sends signals to my body that say "On to the Bathroom," so i proceed.  The laminate wood floor that exists in my bedroom holds the light in itself that secretly urns and that consistent glare shines deeply into my chilled skin.  Its comforting but also inconvenient. If you decide to look down i am instantly blinded and i can't look up because it is far to early for such strenuous activities and just looking straight ahead dazes me.  So being undecided, i begin to stumble lunging towards my bathroom door.  I grab hold of the wooden frame and regain my balance.  The white tiles that remind me to always brush my teeth multiply in every direction.  The grout is over done and the border between every monotonous placed square is hard to acknowledge.  Just realizing, even if it is terribly flawed, that someone built this with you in mind will help unease any greedy souls conscious.  I pull down my gray patterned pajama bottoms to reveal my hairy, chicken legs that should of been taken out of the over 10 years ago.  Black hair with gray tips curl, tightly woven like a knit sweater, around my thighs leading to my crinkled, wrinkled knees that are severely bruised and all the way down to my hairless shins where the only thing that shows is the powered purple hue through the few lays of skin that still remain.  My toes look broken and my feet show a man in his 40's who doesn't care about feet.  We put cloth over them specifically for a purpose.  We walk on them, they deserve some protection.  I fondle my penis, a limp useless slice of skin that hovers over my saggy, pale testicles.  I produce a steady stream of piss into the toilet water that is to hard to tell the difference between puke, piss and shit.  Needless to say my toiled hardly flushes down all of my increments.  I raddle the metallic knob but it is sitting still, still waiting.  Plumbing is a weakness of mind but i am fine with filth.  It's my own.  After I am done pissing, I leave my pants off, wrinkled in a corner like a used napkin like the rest of them.  I continue the de-robing and continue with my shirt.  My flabby, stretched out skin that lumps over my pelvic bone is surrounded by splotches of hair and blank sheets of skin sprouted up my body.  I end up in the shower, turn on the plastic diamond knob until i reach the terminal location and the water boils off the bacteria and burns my skin to the touch.  The way i like it, steaming up my studio and fogging up all the windows.  Creating an opaque box for m,e to dwell in while the public speculates on me.  Water slowly drips off my worn-body, washing away the grime of the days before.  Soothing liquids slide from my nose all the way to my toes, slowly and tantalizing.  As I finish up the procedure soap, sudds, shampoo, scrub, brush, scrape and condition and rinse....rinse....rinse.  Turning off the water supply by rotating the knob to the opposite direction.  The atmosphere slowly returns to its average as my body shrivels up and wrinkles like a crumpled piece of paper.  I grab blindly for my blue-printed towel and dry off.  Rubbing my brown hair, side to side in unison and then I dry off randomly and furiously.  I step out of the shower.  Continuing, now onto my body, bridging the gap and straightening my arms, tightening the towel to reach the small of my back where all the water hides.  Then the genitals and downwards to my legs.  Ever so gently to not scream out of pain from my aged shins. 

Lost in Paradise

Dear Dakota,
    I recently woke up in a lush, vicious forest full of oak and willow trees that surrounded my peripheral .  The trees were enormous, towering above me like a giant, nearly suffocating me and it turned my sight into tunnel vision.  Through the breaks in the branches, I see a relatively small pond with jumping Koi, splashing slightly against the surface.  I feel imprisoned like a have done something terrible wrong and this was my sentence.  I walked up to my favorite tree, one that reminds me of the art from "The Dream Hunters" and I quickly fall in love.   Swiftly turn and begin to climb it.  All my accomplishments in life, I always resume back to my childhood.  We all do in a sense.  After many failed attempts proven by the deep scratches in my arms and the blood from my hands given to me from the razor-like bark I tried to grasp. 
"I give up!" I shouted.

The Downfall of Self

The Specks of Imagination

The Old Mans Monologue

I am a child at heart.  I REALLY am.  I lost my arm doing childish things.
Immature acts of thought-less revelations.  Ones were i would never could
of acknowledged the future representations of such deeds.  If an adult
tells you not to do something, TRY to remember not to.  Don't follow my
shitty footsteps.  Well try not to at least.  And i only use this cane
for balance, not for getting around. But i guess life can be funny sometimes.
Decaying birds, resting in the middle of streets, dead, trampled and
crumpled up for protection.  Oh, how short a birds life is compared to us.
But i guess we all go when its time, don't we.  Maybe a birds time goes
slower than ours, so in actuality they "LIVE" just for as long as humans do.
But it's not my time to go but i don't know if i can ever see it in my future.
Why would i want to go when everything is so beautiful.  And everyone seems
to be looking out for me.  Buses arrive on schedule, i make my own appointments,
and i tame my own beast inside of me.  Cars fly by, skreeching their brakes,
slamming their horns, while subways rumble beneath me as my body trembles
to the echoes as trains pass above me, hearing the twists and the turns of the
track rocking the train cars back and forth like a cradle then the planes fly
too high above us letting gusts of winds force through it traveling hundreds
of miles in the school and hundreds of miles of speed.  All while we build
lasting structures that take more than centuries to crumble and dismantle.
Oh the BEAUTY!

The Elegant Woman

Craving the Ocean