With a disappointing lack of entries for last month's contest, I can pronounce no winners! Perhaps it is merely the lack of activity on the forum generally these past few weeks. I hope this month has a better turn out. (: This month's theme is Love. It couldn't possibly get any cheesier, but I want to see variety here. Hell, you can write about love between inanimate objects if you so wish. Good luck guys. Deadline is the end of the month, as usual. :3
My submission. Done in 40 minutes. Not bad for slow as a snail me. Spoiler Pi “What is love?†Is what he’d heard her say, that girl across the way. But for her it was just, “I’m sorry, what did you say?†“I asked you what I owed you.†The woman looked at him with an almost shocked and disgusted expression. But he rang her up all the same and then called out the inevitably repeating, “Next.†And so the monotony was repaired. Everything returned to the realm of the here and now. The gift of life. He looked out of windows five and a half odd feet off the ground and stood on a foundation rooted to the linoleum by its soles. Nothing changed from day to day. Life was a circle, time was a circle, conversation was a circle, and everything he saw was a circle. Never a line. Never something that could lead him away. Only what could lead him back over where he’d been. Only what he’d already seen and done and failed to see and do. That was Walkins, Alonzo. Soon Alonzo had finished his shift and was on his way to the lockers where he could retrieve his valuables and make his way home where he’d sit in a chair with a paper cup filled half to the brim with water. He’d proceed to drink the water and sigh and refill his cup as needed, but never above half to the brim. If that grew too monotonous he’d move to a different chair and sigh with a plastic cup that he filled to the brim every time and always emptied half to the bottom before refilling it. If even this grew monotonous, he’d move to another chair and stop drinking. He’d watch television instead. He’d realize there was nothing for him to watch and he’d get up to turn off the television and return to his seat. By that time it was usually bed time and he’d always early days the next day so he’d always go to bed promptly at eight o’ clock. On some days schedule was broken and gave way to a different schedule. He’d go over to his friends’ houses on these days and sit with them and listen until it grew monotonous, in which case he would move to a different chair and listen more intently to another person. But today was on schedule, so he’d be sitting alone. The next thing heard he, was ever so simply, “Love silly.†But for her it was just, “I’m sorry, you can’t be talking to me.†“I fucking well am talking to you, you brain dead idiot.†The man bellowed at him as he went purple in the face from the effort of stamping his foot on the ground. But he ignored the man and tried to figure out what the man was asking him for. He did and gave him the inevitably repeating, “This way sir.†And so the monotony was repaired. Everything returned to the realm of the here and now. The gift of life. He looked out of windows five and a half odd feet off the ground and stood on a foundation rooted to the linoleum by its soles. Nothing changed from day to day. Life was a circle, time was a circle, conversation was a circle, and everything he saw was a circle. Never a line. Never something that could lead him away. Only what could lead him back over where he’d been. Only what he’d already seen and done and failed to see and do. That was Walkins, Alonzo. Soon Alonzo had finished directing the man to his destination and went promptly home without further interruption. There he sat in a chair with a paper cup half filled to the brim and drank it slowly. At six past five this grew monotonous and he sat in another chair and drank from a different cup. At half past seven he stood and prepared himself for bed. At eight o’ clock sharp he fell into a controlled slumber that needed no alarm to terminate it. Habit was the only clock that Alonzo followed anymore. His mind knew it and his body proved it. Neither met resistance, they merely acted as instructed and brought him full circle every day month and year. Alonzo was alive. Then giggled she, oh so sweetly, “Who’s here but you and me?†But for her it was just, “I’m sorry, there are others for sure you see.†“But those aren’t the ones I want!†The disgruntled old bird bristled. But he shook his head and told her the inevitably repeating, “We’re out of stock. Perhaps you’d like to come by later or pick out something else you’d like.†And so the monotony was repaired. Everything returned to the realm of the here and now. The gift of life. He looked out of windows five and a half odd feet off the ground and stood on a foundation rooted to the linoleum by its soles. Nothing changed from day to day. Life was a circle, time was a circle, conversation was a circle, and everything he saw was a circle. Never a line. Never something that could lead him away. Only what could lead him back over where he’d been. Only what he’d already seen and done and failed to see and do. That was Walkins, Alonzo. Soon Alonzo was on his lunch break and he was eating the same sandwich he’d been eating since he was a child. But contrary to reason the sandwich did not shirk with eat bite, but grow instead. With each passing year his sandwich was made a little larger until it became the thing he held in his hands. He took another bite. And another. And another. And another. And another. And when his lunch hour ended he stopped and returned placidly to work. That’s when he saw her. That’s when he heard her. That’s when he knew she was and remained. That’s the monotony was broken and he rejoined the present. The gift of life. He stood five feet and nine inches off the ground and she stood five and seven. They stood rooted to each other by their souls. Everything changed from day to day. Life was an adventure, time was a rush, conversation was a symposium, and everything he saw was beautiful. Always beautiful, as long as she was there. He was always being led away. Only by her though. Only by the one he truly loved. That was Alonzo Walkins. “NO!†She shouted at him, teary eyed and flhed. “It’s only you! Only you and me!†“I’m sorry, you’re right. How could I have been so silly?†And that’s how they lived. Together. Only he and only she.
