How he felt about film.

Artie looked on as his mother reprised the same half hearted laugh she had cast in her new lovers direction the night before, after denying the obvious. 'Greg'... He repeated the name under his breath trying to make it sound right. But he couldn't get the awful taste off the back of his tongue as the name 'Greg' turned into 'Garbage.'

'What did you say?' said Grace, who was anything but graceful as she tried to swallow a mouthful of blended khal and almond milk as she turned to her son in disapproval.

Artie liked to think he tried to deny the feeling, but really it enveloped him every time he saw Grace, he looked at his mother in disdain. She was as putrid to him as the drinks she so often drank to try and convince herself she was admirable when really for every deceivingly healthy, vitamin packed, fat eradicating drink she had she downed herself in twice as much food to deny herself of any sorrow she found from parting with her disposable boyfriends.

'This isn't right. We need someone who can look after us. I can't even look after you when you keep throwing your emotions away on these...' He looked over at his mothers lover gnawing away at the end of a chicken bone from last nights dinner. '… Gregs. We need Dad.'

'Art!' Grace cried, as her son left and escaped through the front door. She was embarrassed at the scene that had happened before her new visitor, but seeing Greg busily eating away like an animal made her all the more sympathetic towards Artie and ashamed for another time. 'You should go.' She said, putting her hand on the dog-like man's shoulders, excusing him from the chocolate-covered pity feast that was to come.

Artie wasn't particularly good at anything and he wasn't particularly fond of his unique name either. If he had to choose a pet name it definitely wouldn't have been associated with the word Art, he was terrible at the fine arts in his own opinion. The closest he ever came to drawing was the little thumbnails he would ink onto the covers of his foreign movie collections at home along with a rating out of 10 in cheese. Number one being melted- a total flop, under average was a cheese stick and the greatest movies were adorned with old but good smelly cheese drawings symbolising timeless classics. He didn't really know why he kept the under average cheese films but he figured after dedicating more than an hour of his life to that particular film he may as well act like it was worth it and let it humour him each time he walked past his ever growing collection.

He liked to think watching and collecting movies was a hobby, and that it somehow summed up all that was about him. He didn't mind that to some people that might seem like an average life, marvelling at the wasted time one spent cooped up in a dark room staring at a screen. But to Arti; he got to experience life, he lived in Roman Empires, solved some of the greatest mysteries ever composed, fell in love numerous times with melodramatic characters and experienced the dramas of life with the most observant eyes, from the best angles in the best seat of the house.

It followed life the way he had always wanted to, seeing everything but no one seeing him. He had complete control over his expressions and thoughts and no one could see through his open-like-a-book expressions.

Author's Note

Work in progress.