i laid there in the dark, watching photons of light rush across my wall, hurrying to get from one side to the other. the life expectancy of these passing lights is approximately twenty seconds. in the universe of my wall, they start out as a speck of light, seminal, tiny. they grow larger, through childhood, adolescence, then they stretch out, become elongated, and that's when they're adults, i guess. then, so suddenly, they disappear.
i couldn't get to sleep. i wanted to get up early the following morning to catch up on some reading. i was in bed about three hours earlier than i usually am. the tired energy that usually swells inside of my body at that late hour collides into itself, implodes like rewound fireworks, then settles into a recalcitrant stillness that doesn't have me convinced.
i watch the life and death cycles of passing lights to the sound of waves.
the sound of waves; the cars that drive by on the rain-soaked pavement wheel past spurning out the sound of wave crests breaking against a shore. i think it over cinematically and approve of its general aesthetic.
appealing background music, i think. it was good music to this fatal theatre.
i run over my thoughts slowly, letting them pass between my fingertips like fine, white sand. the grains massage the wrinkles that mark the joints on my hand. sometimes i run into small pebbles, and the sudden change in the texture of the sand startles me. other times, my hand is forced to stop because of large rocks that block the way. i move in a new direction at such times.
i feel like reading, i think. i look over to my desk to the novel that's resting teasingly beside a few scattered pencils and pens. i reach beside my pillow to a bedside lamp and roll its switch on. the click resounds into the silence of my room, but no light follows. i try at it a few more times, but nothing happens.
i forgot to buy a bulb again, i say aloud. i impugn myself gently for being so forgetful.
i do a quick once-over of my situation. i'm in bed and the only source of light is the architect's lamp that hangs wistfully over my desk. i'd have to get out of bed anyway, i think to comfort myself, so i might as well turn the light on.
my legs brace themselves for movement, but something comes to mind, like an irritating pop-up advertisement, but one that turns out to be useful and informative.
after finishing reading, i'm going to have to get up and turn off the light. that requires two trips, an extra ordeal of having to get out of bed, i think to myself.
suddenly, my body weighs as much as a cruise ship and i'm anchored in place. i turned my head to look at the book. it just sat there, dead weight, useless without a reader. i reach for a few times, but i know that it's impossible to reach it. i narrow my eyes into slits and focus a great deal of concentration into the direction of the book. i will it to come to me, summoning any possible, latent telekinetic energy i may have.
no dice. it turned out that i don't have the capacity to move objects with sheerly the power of my mind.
i relinquish the idea of reading to fate. it tumbles down a narrow hole that goes on forever, ticking quietly as it bounces off the walls.
the light show has become annoying. it's the same plot over and over again, the same reason i couldn't handle watching any more Korean dramas. love stories have become a cabaret of the recurring. i didn't think that they met the requirements for good drama and story-telling.
there weren't enough feasible plot-twists. the characters were flat, like dead Cola.
i turn to my other side, away from the book the glares at me so tantalizingly.
the architecture of this building is horrible, i whisper to the wall. it was large brick sloppily painted over with white paint. i could point out where the paint accumulated into little wells of excess. i wonder why the building was constructed this way -- so deliberately unattractive. i couldn't think of why anyone would find this at all appealing. if they're going to construct a building for however much they spent on it, they should at least take the step to make it look nice.
the wall frustrated me, so i turned on my back again. i lifted my hand in front of my face and watched it engulfed in the darkness of the room. i followed the outline of my hand illuminated by the light coming from outside. i thought about going out for a beer, but i knew it wasn't a serious thought because i wouldn't get out of bed.
then something itched at the side of my brain.
the central office of my brain sent some representatives to investigate the cause of this itchiness. the agents from the central office of my brain usually were in dark suits, dressed to attend funerals. they sat at desks all day and watched the other branches of my brain do their work. they make sure that the workers are in check, obedient, and responsible.
the representatives traveled at a light jog to the scene of the disturbance. their polished shoes echoed in the hallways of my brain. they ran along synapses, squeezing past the employees that moved lazily from one room to the next, rearranging files in manila folders.
finally, they reached the scene. someone had vandalized the hallway. the empty bottles of spray paint rolled around on the floor. the smell of aerosol still hung damp in the air. most of the agents inquired nearby employees, asking where the culprit ran off to. they chased their pointed fingers.
one agent, however, stayed behind and examined the graffiti. the paint was bleeding to the floor.
what a sizable mural, the agent thought. surely, it took more than just one individual to complete this task.
the agent pondered the graffiti some more. he appreciated the rushed but deliberate curves of the letters. he thought the color went well with the pastel hues of the wallpaper. he mouthed out the words over and over again to himself.
...carpe diem, the agent whispered to himself.
his words echoed through the empty halls. it rang in concordance with the tapping shoes of the other agents running in the distance, the rolling carts full of manila folders, and the muffled lethargy of the employees who carted them around.
