On the Street with Mr. Grumpy

See how he muse himself with bitterness.

Red-kissed tulip riveting amongst tundra of sand and thickets of bricklebush is worth plucking. Who wants the attention, anyway? Cursed are they who were displaced in barren lands above hell. Lands that cultivated Black Death and delusional warfare, whose harvest were honored annually in locale precincts. That’s what he thought, as he passed by a group of delinquent meth enthusiasts along the way. Smiles are brimming, as black plaques and gingivitis glazed their molars disgustingly. Each of them sung songs of jarring origins yet he knew that in moments like these, human mind easily falls captive of its own beliefs.  A sigh took away his judgment as he now understood how deeply we have fallen away from redemption.

Time, then, allows a fine man such like himself to be confident on the promises of tomorrow. Yet, even a humble witness resting upon a resplendent solitude was never an exempt to the constraints of time himself.  He passed by a huge billboard of a vanilla male model looking conceitedly on his reflection. His eyes are filled with potential and extended eye lashes and his skin placed great emphasis on his virility and boyish charm.

What a great threat to humanity.

He glared at the man in front of him as he crosses the intersection of a dim-lighted street. Light and darkness merged, shadows cast yet the tales long forgotten remains undefined. He thought how horridly it would be if this man becomes the paradigm prepared for the future generations. Thoughts poured forcefully, bashing him like Niagara Falls, and he only has a diminutive amount of time to stretch himself out from his perplexing circumstance. He hated it when moments like this happens yet he hated the man more. He hated the idea that soon enough, the children will become accustomed on entertaining vanity as one of the norms in the near future. A future he can no longer be proud of.

 If only we could heed the lessons taken from our history without reservations, we wouldn’t be doomed today. Yet, he knew that all of these will be turned to blind eye. Or maybe foolish enough, be stripped with its purpose and stricken tenfold on the negativity of the guilty populace; yet, the feedback of the culpable and guilt-ridden worried him little. The idea entertained him, allowing him to move on to a sickening conjecture.

He only has a second to spare when the northern California breeze became hostile. This threw his trilby off, flying into the vast oblivion of a ginger and inconsistent dusk. Though his mind agrees with his reflexes to grab his trilby, a stronger force hidden within compels him to do nothing; for he believes that what has already left is already gone. Only God could defile reason and coerce the living to retrace his steps. But he is no God. So he left the trilby.

He looked at the sky and saw divergent clouds of red and white. Clouds that recounts the chronicles of unsung heroes and secluded past. It is as if he was at the bosom of an integral part of society where tomorrow shares reality with the past without chauvinism and bigotry. A fragrant asylum blooming with mutual respect and reciprocity, the air perpetuates acceptance and authorities are all filled with reason and integrity. He was in Nirvana, dancing his way across the street when a group of men started beating him to death. The police arrived fast to the crime scene and swiftly arrest the men who, according to the police, were all meth addicts. As for the man, he may face death but he is far from being sad. He positively believes that his soul will have a place in the sun radiating his values and deeply held beliefs to the new world and hopefully, burn down that annoying vanilla billboard.