Here's a story that I wrote in about 10 minutes on a napkin at a pizza shack after seeing an old man eating spaghetti alone. Don't ask, inspiration is a strange and fucked up mistress and I believe she makes me think I can write. This, I believe, is a crappy story with no point.

Age...

There’s nothing to do anymore. I wake up and lay in bed wishing that my Eleanor was still laying here with me. After I wake up I can’t move for close to 2 hours most times. Then the grim realization that I’m not going to die today sinks into my wrinkly ol’ head. It’s time to keep moving on and pretend that I can still function normally without her at my side. Breakfast tastes like dirt and the water feels like I’m drinking nothing at all. The sun is brown and nothing looks like life has even given it a second glance. I wish I could die but I can’t kill myself. I’m too chickenshit to even contemplate how I would do it. My grief is so great that it alone seems potent enough to take my life. My only solace in this mostly bleak world now has become Perrys, a pizza shanty down the corner from my new residence of an old folk’s home and it is my only source of human contact. There are hardly ever the same faces, and hardly anybody ever notices me. I don’t mind it though. I take comfort in the fact that other people are happy as I once was. I’ll be the first to admit my jealousy, but I would never dream of bringing my pain upon them. I’ll let them live their lives and in good time they’ll know my emptiness Eleanor once filled with such a love that I felt I would burst sideways. Alas, I wish I let her know more often the depth of my love for her. My subdued emotional habits belied my true feelings for her. And that in the end will be my greatest pain. I loved her. My situation is nothing new I know. I see the other geriatric zombies out there like me. They, like me, walk around aimlessly for hours at a time heedless of thought or weather and often end up in a place never visited before. They’re like the wandering dead searching for their lost souls. I weep for them, and then I weep harder for myself because I know I am them. I really think I’m dead to a certain point and it seems that those black-outs may be the only happy moments that I have left in my life.

~-=Quote Of The Day=-~ "Always acknowledge a fault. This will throw those in authority off their guard and give you an opportunity to commit more." --Mark Twain (1835 - 1910)