“Fuck.”
“What?”
“My lighter, I lost my lighter.”
God, this is totally random. Hello? Hello? Is anyone here? Anyone here at all? No? Why am I always alone? Maybe it’s a good thing, a good thing to be alone, all the time, everywhere I go, every day, every week, every month, year, decade, century, millennium, eon, epoch, each and every time. I’m but a speck of dust, drifting in random directions, waiting, taken, through and flung across the streams of time. Oh, but I’m patient, I wait, I wait for someone to notice me, I wait eternities at a time for but the small trace of recognition. I float through the world like a dream, a grain of sand, sandman’s creation, I drift, I wander, I am. I just am. It’s hard to just be, but sometimes it’s hard not to be. It’s harder to desist, to exit, to leave, to stop, to take a step out of the endless river, the take a step back, look across the span of the world and wandered what it is that’s taken so long.
“Shit happens and no one ever knows why. It’s, to be quite honest with you, just plain annoying.” He remarks shoving half a bagel, covered in butter, into his mouth. “I mean, something goes wrong and it’s ‘Shit happens.’” Another bite, another gulp, he continues, he has a tenacity for speaking, ranting, rather. “Why the hell does shit always happen? Doesn’t anyone ever have a good answer, a good goddamn explanation for their fucking problems?” He also has a tenacity for cursing, he punches the elevator button, hard. The bagel is gone, brown paper bag dotted with translucent spots of oil crumpled and thrown haphazardly over his shoulder into a trash can. His shoe taps against the linoleum floor impatiently, pat, pat, pat, pat, hum, ding, the elevator arrives. He keeps talking, brushing past the mob pouring forth from the elevator, like water flowing from a broken dam, “I mean, Jesus, it ain’t my fucking fault it happened, okay? You know what I mean? How the hell, how the hell was I supposed to know?”
A sharp intake of breath, a lull, silence, his companion turns to him, surprised at the pause. Angry, livid, blue eyes peeking out from under black bangs met the quizzical expression on his friend’s face, wine red eyes amused and expectant. “Are you quite finished, Rhys?” The other male asked, voice steady, calm, cold if need be, but at the moment was a mix of warm summer air and clear blue skies.
“Oh,” Rhys replied in an equally sarcastic tone, “I have yet to begin, Frey.”