Tag: secret

The First and Last Letters Make A Sentence (aka A Secret Message In Prose)

More often than not I find myself staring at buildings with a bit of disgust as I drive by them in my car. Carefully constructed monstrosities that liter the world with their colossal, unnatural, suffocating presence fill my stomach with nausea.

Ultimately, I’ve never been much of an environmentalist and would condone destroying an entire forest if it meant having fresh #2 pencils always available at nearby department stores but I’ve always felt the cities architectures to be smug, silent oversee-ers to mankind; watching as we scurry blindly to and from, holding their laughter at our pathetic attempts to make sense of a world without, mute grins as we erect more of these deity’s and declare them the creations of men and look on with indifferent stares even as the whole world crumbles till there is nothing at all.

Frequently I tend to stare right back at them with cold, unmoving, unflinching eyes for hours at a time and occasionally could see their almost undetectable discomfort in a particular way the suns light shimmers off their large glass windows; fearful, they shift uncomfortably because their ruse has fooled everyone but I. Every waking moment I have been preparing for the day when their power over us would be gone forever; the day I would set us all free and humanity would be the only ones allowed to stand so heavenly and tall. Daily, my mother calls, saying she’s been worried about me ever since I got fired and that I looked thinner last she saw.

“All right mom, I am just fine why would you be worried” was all I said, my eyes looming over building schematics, large bags under my eyes from my recent insomnia and intricately delicate plans. Realistically, some will call me crazy in the future but others would thank me after the war, having saved the world from hurt, pain and cheating boyfriends so the only leading cause of death is joy of old age; not an uzi. Generations of our newfound freedom will revile buildings and live in huts made of mud and carry our own fresh fruit from our farms instead of processed canned goods injected with government poison mush. The historians will look back on today as a savage era while they talk about the evenings virgin sacrifice, chanting songs to their blood-thirsty God over a bonfire and discussing the evils of a 9-5 job. United, we will live in perfect harmony where no one hungers, no one feels alone, and girls only tell you they love you when they mean it.