Sol's Random Stories

They were quickly babbling off into another Crossfire episode, Nate and Leo edition. The dark but friendly tension building in their words, their topics ramping up. "So, where then do you want to resume your point, at the very end of your argument? I can wait.", Leo said with obvious sarcasm. "No, of course not, that would be rude; and no one's arguing, yet. In the middle of my point, more or less. Yes, so from there I'll continue." Nate took his moment for effect. "The  issue is about something and nothing, how could the former spring from the latter, which you doubt, etc, yes? So, the entire premise already assumes much not in evidence. Something from nothing, and nothing from something, is that really our choice, or an illusion?" Leo's eyes nearly moan as they roll with affected reaction, this is where it always goes, he mused, eager to interrupt Nate. It's like a script of sorts, a play. This has gone on for sixty years, since they were...

Frank, 30, was a fastidious man. He would firstly describe himself as precise. Exactness was a rule in his disciplined, worldly view, virtue above all. With his custom shirts just so, and his slacks so sharply creased, he had little time or patience for lazy self-controllers lacking will, or any knowledge of its core value. He liked his life just as it should be, everything orderly, what he expected, with no surprises, drama, or reverie.  Then, one seemingly ordinary morning, every single thing he ever thought he knew just blew up into a million meaningless pieces, all at once, leaving him breathless, silly, somewhere new and unknown-- the day he met an emo girl, Pauli.  

No, of course I understand, it hasn't been a perfect life. Sure, I'm as flawed as any Violet- Backed Starling could be. We're only birds, I've made mistakes, we both have. So then, what about that four-day cruise, huh? Mexico? Second honeymoon?  

"The colder the room, the more likely you'll have a bad dream." Lourdes sat up and shivered a convulsion of dawn chill, her arms seemingly dead, her blood still. Where did she read that quote? The foggy thoughts took time lifting, she couldn't recall where, it's a silly quote anyway. Lourdes has no dreams, as was her personal habit, instead pure imageless sleep. Or, so she has chosen to believe. Yet the vast and complex cosmos of the brain has its own order, its own programs to run. In fact, it's always dreaming every hour awake or not, as every dream is a forgettable room, how many we roam straight thru yet never remember in some utterly unaware slumber. The cold fact is we're not in control of anything awake or not, but something is directing this old universe to expand away from itself as it does, and with ever increasing haste, how can it be, this notion of forever, endlessly? Lourdes likes it just fine so cold, doesn't think about questions unaske...

He adjusted his collar without thinking. He knew one thing for certain: he felt frustrated in nearly every part of his life. Cornered by details, trapped both by his own tortured fears and circumstance. He was in full turmoil, and felt too weak to fight it alone, although he knew that wasn't true, just a mirage of dysfunction. During the day, he was exhausted. At night., he lay awake, unable to sleep. How many years have passed? So many twists and traps, he's made so little progress, still enslaved by his own quiet terror. Then, he reflexively glanced at the clock, 5:45, much later than he thought. The morning was striding forward, he had to quickly prepare. At 6am, his early risers would arrive, unpacking their burdens and expectations. Soon, Father Wills would begin another day of services and prayers.