Here Come Old Flattop.

 

 

Every time my feet hit the pavement of the sidewalk, when my brain tells me to walk ahead, I always see him. He is a man, no more older than my mental age. My skin always felt like creeping up by his image, beautiful yet sad. He was always frowning, not feeling any kind of emotion crossing in front of him. He walked like he was dancing and grooving, with a hip in each step. He walked like he was about to jump and just swim away into another world.

His eyes were always glazed and confused, wondering around in its socket. The jelly complexion was almost too good to be true, as it looked as fake as a wax dummy's. Maybe because his eyes didn't want to see anymore. Maybe they just want to sleep once and while, recharge to see another day's miseries and miracles in this city.

His hair seemed short to the naked eye, but his wisdom made it grew to his knees. To his knees and beyond, his wisdom helped made him seem more powerful than he already is. When he cracks jokes to his fellows around them, they all roar in laughter. But, he just looks ahead, into my eyes. His eyes want to smile, but they're too tired and useless.

He never wears shoes, either. Something about "feeling Mother Earth's pain" or something. I remember, he blabbed on how Mother Nature created the Earth, not God or space. I think God created Mother Earth to create this planet, but I do not wish to argue with him. He a man of wisdom and fake necessities. The one time I was really doubting him was when he shot up coca-cola. His fingers, a bit thick and graceful like a monkey's, wraps itself around the syringe and just pushed the trigger. I really wanted to slap him, yell and spit at him on how idiotic he is.

But I never got around that.

And, on this day, is the anniversary of what he first said to me. He called me "kid" in a monotone voice, guiding me with the flick of his wrist. I was mesmerized on the way he smoked that same cancer stick, the toxic smoke escaping his beautiful lips. I glide towards him and his places his hand onto my shoulder.

"I know you, you know me." Once I heard him say that, my eyes opened. His eyes woke up and said hello. His throat bellowed out a very small chuckle and his lips mused up into a sick smirk. My heart sank very hard at the confusion, but rose up as he smiles even harder. I knew he would crack. That man, who was about my mental age, grew up and now he's different from when he first talked to me.

I didn't want that to happen. Never would I imagine that he'll age. I was wrong.

Author's Note

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Reviews

[Alex Thomas]

Incredible beginning. The narration is rich and descriptive. Both characters seem mesmerizing. I'm interested in the conflict you set up toward the end. My love of the Beatles will always earn you some props. I await the next chapter anxiously.