Forest, trees, dirt, isolation yet happiness. Solitude, among the leafs and insects. Gone from the wastrels. Gone from the politics. Alone no more, death of a forest, indignity
I am born. pure purebread is my name. Uncaring energy is what carries me. Boundless play. My first year concludes. I am king of the brood. Lord of the mutts. This land is mine, this land is marked. My focus is singular. My goal is to remain alpha. However, another world has opened. A loud world. Where the masters play their own games. My fourth year has passed and my own spawn are born. Fitting that my own master should pass. My children don’t survive the winter, though I am not surprised. I wonder why I bothered. My seventh year passes. I have moved from home to home, encountering various members of my own kind. Some- like me- strive to be the potentate, but their can be only one and they are mongrels, I am pure. I have been given new masters, the boy of the family seems taken to me. He also appears weak. Despite his flaws the boy seems just as energetic and quick as I. The boy dies. My 10th year has come and gone, and more and more I am reminded of my own mortality.
Another night at Phillies. The clock’s just struck midnight and the buzz in the joint is long gone. The bar is sticky, the floor is covered in bar snacks. The lights of the building are shining on all of the derilict buildings and stores on the street, lined up like slowly decaying teeth. The streets outside eerily quiet and not soul could be seen. For all the bartender knew, the people in the bar were the last souls on earth. The lonely man on the other side of the bar called the bar keep over, hailing him with a flailing hand. The bar keeper briskly made his way over- anything to get him to leave faster. The lonely man had a solid, solemn expression on his face, like the face of a statue. He had been in town for two weeks, rumours say he came hear to bury his mother. She was a real self obsessed prima donna that one, but apparently she died from a heart attack after looking in a mirror- maybe their is a God after all. The bar keeper smiled faintly at the man.
“what’ll be sir?’ asked the bar keep.
“Just another scotch on the rocks” replied the man, he didn’t look up at the bar keeper. He kept his eyes dead fixed on the bar, just stinking and visibly shaking his leg as if he needed the bathroom, or was anxious.
“Coming right up”
The barkeeper made the drink and then went over to the couple in the corner. The woman in red he knew. She was the daughter of mayor, had big dreams of going to hollywood. Unfortunately for her – despite her good looks she was as dumb as a kitchen sink. The man on the other hand was a relative new comer. He had a pointy prominent nose and dark- slightly red- eyes. He spoke with style and grace. His every action was filled with swank and a subtle intelligence. He’d only been drinking at Phillies for two nights, but it seemed that in that time half the bars clientele had just disappeared. He saw me coming, shot me a sly smile and told me “were fine”. I just shrugged my shoulders and accepted it.