C'est La VieA Story by Gaston Villanueva an overelaboration of the blatantly obvious The whole world took a trip to Antarctica but I wasn’t invited. I’ll admit there were days where I was curious as to why I didn’t get an email to come and tag along but I learned to accept it. Curiosity killed the cat, but something much worse killed curiosity. In the first months after being exiled, I began to think I was being human wrong. I didn’t need rollover data, I needed rollover sleep. I learned the word hypothetically before I knew what a hypothesis was. Earth was just a crib for humans. Popular ideas had no value for my mammalian system. My anxiety was so strong I would scribble away an unused pencil every day.
The days it rained were the worst. I would stay inside all day because I never liked my wet human smell. I would watch from my window as the drops of rain slowly sank into the ground. If depression was literal, I would’ve sunk even lower than that. Sometimes the lowest part of our body isn’t our feet, but our mind. I would watch nature’s car wash and pretend each rain drop was a human I could vaguely remember. The more I lived, the more the world only made sense to me. It was so reassuring seeing the same car parked in the fourth parking spot. Until one day, my traditional conscience established a follower. Life is bait.
Miss Leading, another human left in exile, was odder than JFK’s assassination and had eyes as blue as azurite. That’s what I liked about her. Pawn to e4. We’d hangout from see to can’t see and go on many ceramic adventures. We’d look at drugs under microscopes and used our words as aphrodisiacs. Chasing the sun rise, we painted the town red. We created our own loopholes and would put Anne Frank Band-Aids on trees who we deemed awkward. We’d pour Russian potato juice into water balloons and stumble away into our treehouse after the battle. The lights were on but nobody was home. Life is an offer, a direction.
We invented a game and built a guillotine out of cardboard. Days on end, we’d pretend to guillotine ourselves and I lived for the chills. We exchanged expiration dates, the most intimate thing we had. With graphite swords and paper shields, we’d slobber our thoughts. Queen to h5. I’ve come to the realization that no matter how old we are, who we are, or what path we choose, we will never be able to fully do what we want to do. We are like ants, social creatures that only fully function in a colony. We must sacrifice our own good for the colony. Life is a mind game. Words bounced off each other in the atmosphere.
I had become a slave to experience. We’d change our clothes, but changed more than our outer layer. I mentioned that our bodies had internal evaporation systems and nothing was the same after that. I felt like I was holding on to something that wasn’t there. Bishop to c4. I would try to sleep, tomorrow is a new movie. Like when I’d swim in the ocean, my stomach would move up and down all night. In the middle of a laugh, I tried to tell her what I was thinking but my thoughts had become deep knots and I’m not a sailor. Flights of stairs leading to nowhere is how I’d spend most of my days. I’d offer her kale and arugula and she’d decline it. I knew this out of character act eluded to something. I used up all my physical defenses as well as my chemical ones. I had piloted our plane too close to the sun. Bamboozled and mislead.
I decided it was best that we part ways and I took a quest to Antarctica. Joy is orchestrated by the Placebo effect. I would never forget about her because does the ludicrous target toss the worthy memory? I shared some Taco Bell with the Mariana Trench and glumly walked through the egg box topography of Death Valley. They say that flying over Death Valley is like flying over Mars. There’s something unordinary about deserts: three of our world’s religions originated in deserts. I talked to some annual plants and they told me what there life was like. They preached that the only way for them to survive in the desert was to die and let their seeds carry on. Queen to f7.
When I got miles away from Antarctica I decided to become a certified bingo player. The world has two left feet. My mind was altered, like hookers at a baby shower. A first-class demigod, I sipped my vanilla milkshake and laughed when an acid neutralized a base. I saw the wooden city that was Antarctica and had delusions of grandeur when I knocked on the caramel doors. I didn’t wait for a response and opened it myself. There’s a fine line between karma and irony. Checkmate. I looked around and saw that no one was here. A match was on the ground and a torrential downpour of kale and arugula muted the ringing in my ears. I ripped the match and ceased to remember.
© 2015 Gaston VillanuevaAuthor's Note
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4 Reviews  Last Updated on May 3, 2015 Tags: kale, absurd, utopia, meaningful, weird Author
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