Have you ever felt that the world is no longer enticing? The world is predictable. It is mundane, and the consistent change never changes. Such is true that it comes to a point in time where one can no longer write, paint, sing, or in any form, express what he feels. He is incapable because the feelings no longer bother him. The feelings have lost all sense of feeling. No? Such was the case of Shirt.
He sat in his stage of deep thought. However, of all places, his choice of location was not too well. Presumably, one would find the quietest place there was, for solitude. Ironically, in the case of Shirt, he chose the most absurd place to find solace in thought; a park bench, alongside a Frisbee tournament. There was clutter about, and free food and drink, (he was already holding a plastic cup filled with soda). It was not uncommon for him to respond blankly and with dull enthusiasm to whoever approached, moreover since he was in one of his moments of mental self indulgence. His blue eyes shimmered in the daylight, with pupils adjusting indefinitely into various shapes every time a cloud passed overhead. His grey beard that stretched rather unusually long down his neck seemed to remind many a child’s eye of the man from the North Pole. It was mid-October, too early for that kind of talk. His jacket and jeans clung to him as if they were a very sloppy cotton diving suit. Bald to the skull, he brushed a hand over his head to remove a leaf that had landed there from a nearby tree.
“Excuse me, would you happen to have the time?” A rather friendly, though exhausted voice emerged from the corner of his right eye. It was a blur at first, but as soon as he turned, his glasses revealed what he could only think of as God’s idea of a striptease. Her body curves were perfect, her brownish-red hair fell down just right (enough to amplify the breasts and add subtlety to the shoulders), and her lips, Devilish in God’s curious way. She was wearing a movie cliché; a tank top, in blue, pasted onto her, followed by cotton pants that revealed the lacing of her underwear. However, of all these, what struck him was her eyes. They were not blue, nor were they green or gray; they were brown. Simple and plain, and no matter how much it seemed to ruin the physique and nature of the body, it complimented it as if it were a spoon to a fork. She was waiting for an answer he had not yet deigned to give.
“Uhm…” He said as he stole a glance at his watch. “Around 2:56. Coming up on 2:57, right, now.” He smiled.
“Thanks!” She said before resuming her goddess’ jog. His eyes trailed her, and to his uncanny surprise, she turned to wave at him. Somehow she knew her beauty was an indefinite treasure trove for the eyes of many a lonely, as well as those not-so-lonely, men. Humiliation swept over him, and yet he waved, since there was no point in the denial of the obvious. Disregarding the shallow thought and surge of worthless emotion, he resumed his pondering on feelings. Taking a sip from the cup, he resumed his former stance and stared into the vibrant abyss that lay before him.
In what could have been no more than a minute, she had passed again. This time, she paused and sat beside him. She had done the inconceivable. Altering his state of thought disturbed him deeply and among those who knew Shirt, knew that his thoughts were commonly of the utmost importance. It took a while for most of his acquaintances to realize that his thoughts were not to be tampered with in any sort of debauchery or even events of extreme urgency. His routine time for thought was always there, and it was one that could not leave, even if he’d tried to force it out of his system. It had been there since childhood and it remained with utter defiance to any form of conviction. Indeed, she had altered his thoughts twice, and this time, even her beauty would not stand in the way of his cleverly placed retorts and strike downs. He turned to face her, with his sincerest blank stare. It usually did the trick. Usually.
“Hi there! I’m Dander. Well, my friends call me that, but my real name is Danielle Deryn Dello. My parents had a thing for D – names.” She said, followed by a giggle, and finishing off with, “So, what’s your name?”
“Isn’t that nice? A girl whose attitude resonates her nickname. No wonder they nicked you after a scalp problem. You are as irritating as the itch you are called after.” He replied gruffly, content that she would leave him alone after that. She gasped slightly, and resumed her smile.
“So, I didn’t catch your name?”
“It’s Shirt. Leave me alone please.” He said as he turned back, in a futile attempt to resume his routine time for thought.
“That’s a cute name. It suits you. I like it very much.” She persisted.
“Thank you. Take a hike.”
“I just did. I asked you for the time while I was, remember?” She said as she gave him a face that reminded him of how he’d felt when he first saw that girl he’d pined over throughout grade school. There were the stomach spawned butterflies, again.
“How could I forget you?” He said sarcastically, stomping on the butterflies one by one. He avoided looking at her. It would’ve melted the ice that was his initial sentiments towards her when she had sat down next to him.
“You’re retarded. Leave me the fuck, alone.” He declared, raising his voice.
She was gone. Everyone was gone. The park had become empty. There were no sounds except for the trees, rustling in the slight afternoon breeze. His breath had become audible within the semi-deafening silence. His eyes had not deceived him yet, until then, he’d believed so. Yet his eyes had not deceived him either. They were gone. Everyone.
He resumed his old stance, and looked at his watch one last time before freezing in his position. It read 2:56, coming up on 2:57.
(c) Anachronic Works 2011