What is it- two years later and I'm back. And Xanga has been shot to hell.
Oh. I'm writing again. It took me long enough. Since I can't share it with many without having myself commited, I figure Xanga is the best place to go. It's not finished.
Just how long is a moment?
1 second,
60 seconds,
1800?
And what can happen in it?
A blink of an eye,
A passing glance,
Car crash…
Your body slamming into the cold pavement.
It’s become common knowledge, it’s not the fall that kills you, and I guess you could say it’s not the impact either. At least not the one of your face meeting 64th Street. It’s your internal organs flying through your chest cavity and meeting your chest wall at 100 miles an hour. A passing glance, an internal car crash, one moment.
Hello. Goodbye
“Hello.” Silence. “I’m going to kill myself.”
“Kay you sick fuck- wrong number.”
“I’m serious, I’m gonna jump!”
“I hope your enjoying the view.”
“You bastard, I’m going to splatter my brains all over the pavement.”
“Make sure you clean up after yourself.”
There were a few snarls of tangled insults and clipped curses from the other line.
“I haven’t slept for four days…“ Oh. A sob story.
“Hmm, infomercials, vacuum bags on QVC, reruns of M*A*S*H- Ah! The 4 o’clock rerun of The O’Reilly Factor.”
“Are you listening yah-“ The unfinished insult lingered in the air, space, and time between them.
”Well are you gonna do it or not?”
“Wha-what?” A peak behind the curtain, of the small scared girl inside
“Kill yourself- splatter the sidewalk with your blood- as you so poetically put it. All talk and no action.”
”Where do you come off telling me what to do! Who granted you with the authority…this is my life here!”
”And what power granted you the authority to check in your time card early?”
Eh. It's something.
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