Inspiration AwakensHidden inspiration awakenswhen the curtain of darkness is drawn across the stage.Hiding the sleepy world from my view,drenched in tired slumber.Hiding the world's view of me,i wait in anticipation.And at last,in the hours before daylight,my mind's eye: open,the gears in my head: turning,the page before me: heavily soaked with the fresh blood of ideas.
Insignificance.-Part 2, Chapter 1.Insignificance.-Part 2, Chapter 1.I let my chocolate-brown hair fall in front of my eyes as I stood in the warm September sunlight. The light bounced off the mass of red, orange, and yellow leaves on the ground, and as I stood at the stop, I wondered how my life was before him. He was now taking up most of my thoughts, invading the innermost parts of my memories in the same way a family of mice invades one's home. He was one only mouse, though, and just like a house of mirrors makes it appear as though one has an army of clones, he had an army his own "clone-mice" in my head. I must admit, he was a pretty cute mouse, despite him being the disease infecting my thoughts.I stood at the stop for about fifteen minutes, letting my thoughts aimlessly wander around, wondering how he was doing, if he was okay, if he had quit smoking yet, if he had a girlfriend now... I suddenly realized that I had let my eyes rest on one spot for too long when a boy standing with his group of friends passed a
Insignificance.Insignificance.As I slowly trudged my way home, leaves crunching beneath my feet in the September warmth, I happened to think of him. He was slightly short for his age. At sixteen, he was shorter than average, only about five feet, six inches tall. I could still see him clearly in my mind as though I'd last seen him yesterday. His light brown eyes were hidden beneath long, dark lashes, and his golden-brown hair was always swept to one side in a sort of messy manner that allowed him to hide his dilated pupils when it was necessary. In my mind, I could see that his image was speaking, but his words were mute. As the memory spoke to me, it was like watching a silent film. I couldn't listen to the words of the memory anymore. Every time I turned the volume up for that memory, his words pierced my heart and brought forth a surge of tears to my eyes. Crossing the street absentmindedly, my legs leading the way on their own as a force of habit, the cracks in the black pavement of the street r