Grenade Trends

Grenade Trends

A Story by アキスーテ (Akisute)
"

I wrote a thing.

"

Sometimes you sit still for days. Or is that just me? Motionless in your own bloody indecision just sitting there, unable to make the choice of whether or not to get up even, but even not choosing that choice is a choice in a way isn't it? And so you lay there, or rather I lay there, no one else does this right? Lay there until inevitably your bladder starts shouting and you're forced to stand for a moment only to sit down soon afterwords.

Normal people would go get breakfast...scratch that normal people would have already eaten breakfast by noon. What defines breakfast anyway? Is it just the first thing you eat in a day? Is it the time of day that determines it? Is it the content of the meal? Because if it's that last one then know one has ever had pancakes for dinner, just a very very late breakfast. And what about second breakfast? But I digress and reference too many films. Not that one is many.

Anyway normal people do things, me...and maybe you? Back into bed is where my ilk goes. And why? I dunno, it's soft, except that one time when one of the springs poked through and stabbed my spleen, I bought a memory foam mattress after that.

Some people at least do things in bed though, like browse reddit or watch porn, but I just lay there. I think I just want to sleep forever, but that never happens cause biology loves to f**k me.

I have this fantasy where I go into a coma and no matter how hard they try to wake me up I just lay there in some blissful dream, and they don't unplug me cause my family inexplicably keeps hope that maybe I'll come out of it, but I never do, then I die.

But on this morning I didn't do what I'd normally do and instead I did what normal people do...well as close to normal people as I could manage as I already mentioned normal people would be up before noon.

Though to be fair what defines normal? Is it just the average? Does normal even exist? Normal feels like an oxymoron if you think about it long enough in that in order for normal to exist there must be something that is abnormal but what is normal and abnormal is an ever changing thing and something no one ever made clear because unfortunately none of man's gods neither Jesus nor the Flying Spaghetti Monster decided to grace us with an all encompassing definition of normal.

But that's how all words work. The only reason words mean anything at all is because we all agree it means that thing, we all agree that “rose” refers to either a flower or some lady from a really long movie about a boat and we all agree that “rose” does not refer to crystal meth; though I think I may have just coined the next slang for meth. But I digress and reference too many films. Not that two is many.

On this morning I went to the kitchen having somehow decided I wanted cereal which was miraculous considering on a normal day I made no decisions of any sort as the choice to get in the car and drive to work is one made for me. Sort of like when you take a drink of water without really thinking about it, did I make that choice is did my body just sense the need for water and realizing water was in close proximity force my hand...literally.

There was no cereal. Well there was cereal but it was well past being fresh and I think there were dead things inside of it.

I haven't washed my clothes so I just put on the topmost items with the assumption that they'll be the least disgusting. My shirt is red, it sticks to my skin and wrinkles haphazardly creating little mountains of cloth that I'm sure would upset an ant were one to find itself on my shirt.

When the hell was the last time I wore a skirt? How long has this been sitting here? I don't wear these anymore, that's from a different time in my life I'd rather forget. I quickly regret smelling the old garment.

The skirt finds its way into a large metal bin and I find my way into my car. The car finds its way to the store and I find my way to the back where the cereal hides.

I once read that they put frequently purchased items like milk and s**t in the back of the store. The idea is that it forces you to walk to the back of the store and hopefully you'll see something on the way there and decide to get that too. Apparently it works, either that or store managers are demons and can't cum if they don't picture the faces of exhausted patrons running to the back of the store to get a gallon of milk.

Now that I think of it, I'm not sure if my milk is any good, and if the cereal is no good then why would the milk be any good?

So on this morning in a wrinkly smelly red shirt and a pair of black jeans I awkwardly stumble to the cash register with milk in one hand and cereal in the other.

Can it really be called morning? I mean I woke up at noon after all it must be at least one or something like that. Well I didn't really wake up at noon, I got up at noon, I had been lying in my bed for a few hours by then trying to decide what to do, but I never know what the hell I want to do. Everything feels so pointless and false. Even now when I want nothing more than a bowl of f*****g cereal I can't help but look at myself as I stand in line and I feel false. From the way my hips curve, to the way my shoulders don't stick out more, or the pitch of my voice, even the length of my hair, none of it-

“$6.40 ma'am.”

Yeah...sure.

I swear the kid gave me a weird look. I swear he did, I f****n swear. Well f**k him.

The key turns in the ignition and the car returns home and I return to my kitchen.

I'm not sure I can actually call it my kitchen I mean it's an apartment I rent the place I don't really own it to be fair, can that really be called my kitchen? I mean it's really my landlord's kitchen when you get down to it I just borrow it every day for the past two years and 3 months. Four months?

With the tv on and my cereal in the bowl I feel a bit less false. But at this time in my life I can't stop this feeling, it will be with me forever and always, well maybe not forever.

They tell me this doesn't make me abnormal but I'm not so sure. They say to embrace it, that it's not abnormal, what is normal anyway? They seem happier when they embrace it. I don't doubt it is me, I just doubt that it can be normal in any sense. But I digress.

The cereal was good. I had Fruity Pebbles.

© 2014 アキスーテ (Akisute)


My Review

Would you like to review this Story?
Login | Register




Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

177 Views
Added on April 20, 2014
Last Updated on April 20, 2014

Author

アキスーテ (Akisute)
アキスーテ (Akisute)

DogBollock, USA



About
"The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely. All art is quite useless." - Oscar Wilde So I've been infected with a disease. IHTWOID I Have To Write Or I'll Die... more..

Writing