Just a Man in a yellow shirt.. | Forum

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Drag.. General
Drag.. Jan 10
What a shit way to end off the day. Slush at his feet from the melting snow and still icy cold water about it all. Walking his way home down the street is a Man. Hands shoved into pockets of his jeans and thick, dull yellow shirt on his body. He makes his way down the empty streets with no name, no sidewalks, no roadways or anything. Just a small alley between two apartments and a restaurant. This is Michael Anderson, and he is not a really new fellow. More so unnoticed by most until he presents himself, and that is the way that he likes it to be. Quiet, just him and his journey home through the cold and slush. He wishes the weather would just make up its damn mind already. Is he to freeze to death or die in the heat? Come on now, it can't just be either/or, there has to be some logic to it. God he wishes he could just, find the thing in control of the weather and kick its head in. Smear that bastards face all over the controls and say, "Look at what you made me do."

Lets be realistic, there is nothing that is in control of the weather other than itself. So he sucks it up, and takes his coat-less ass back to his shitty little apartment. God it was awful. Just him and his creepy ass neighbor across the hall in what was once another place, but that shit shut down. Probably from a blood curse or something, it happens in this crazy place of vampire hunters and elves and god knows what else. Now it was an apartment, his apartment, home. Stepping past a poster to open the front door that said, 'Live free and Die hard' with a gentleman holding a sledge hammer covered in blood he went inside. It was a shitty little corridor with a dead end about twenty feet down its wooden floorboards; and plaster covered in holes that his fucking crazy neighbor made formed the walls. Spiderwebs danced in the corner of his side of the hall as he fumbled for the key to open his door. Eventually he got it, and stepped on into his living spaces..

Some Men live in manors, and some live in boxes. Mike? He lived somewhere inbetween. It was about fifteen by nineteen feet of living space, not much but enough for one dude. A TV on a stand in the corner in front of a red couch, and a bed with no covers in the other. Just a metal frame and a mattress, nothing really special. A little table and a chair, two things fit for just one. On the other side of the room was the usual, cupboards, microwave, pots pans, dishes, a shelf where he kept his prizes. Ah yes, one thing atleast worth living for. Doritos. Reaching up and taking one down he opened it and sat over on the couch, flicking on TV to distract himself from life for a while.

After the show came to a crashing end, he blinked slowly and licked his orange fingers clean again, and tossed the crumpled bag away. Meh. He'd pick it up later and toss it into the bin of chef boyardee and other Doritos bags. But he had work tomorrow, and had to rest his mortal eyes. With a groan of metal springs and frame the bed held his weight, the lights turned off. Staring up at the dark ceiling that the lack of windows his room provided he tossed the uniform for work off to the side and thought. Just another day in the life of this ordinary, boring Man. Yet what people didn't know about was the struggle of his life, the anger he felt all the time. The torture, the pain, the intensity and violence his own dreams put him through. Waking up every morning and looking at the Microwave for the time, covered in sweat and feeling exhausted. Oh well.

Maybe one day someone will love him like Mother loved Father. Or maybe he'll just be like this forever..
Sometimes, life is like that, and he'd press on..