||[Oct. 22nd, 2005|01:10 am]
There was a rant here, but I got bored with it...uh....days ago.|
So instead, I'll write a story.
Peter sat on the doorstep. Brain on chin, chin on hands, elbow on knees. He mused as the sun set in the distance, and wondered about his existence. Though brief, it is still an existence. And he knew that is what set him apart from animals and stupider people that were also animals. The ability to ponder his own existence.
Deep down, he knew he wasn't that concerned about his existence, but he disliked animals. So he took the practical steps to disassociate himself from animals. This included higher philosophy.
He scratched a mosquito from his cheek, muttering a small curse that exhaled in front of him. The mosquito knew her place was to suck as much blood as possible in her short life as possible. Short, succint, and to the point. Blood. Suck. End. Repeat. Shampoo commercials at their finest.
Shampoo Commercials. He was in advertising up to two years ago. Peter isnt sure why everything happens two years ago, but thats how it happens in most stories. Two years ago is probably a significant number. In most other stories, a year ago is also a favourite. Peter figured that two years just was a softened step from one, and made the main character more mysterious because more time was contemplated on whatever happened two years ago, leaving out obvious details. Peter knew he was in advertising two years ago, and he slept with the wrong secretary at the wrong time in the wrong place with the wrong sex. Thats not too bad considering the advertising business, but things got grimy when Peter decided to step out of the brief relationship with the boss's son. His last project was a damn shampoo product. He wanted to put a new spin to the "repeat" mantra that is plastered on the back of every shampoo bottle under direction. Screw the repeat, if you have a good enough shampoo. His opinion changed after he screwed Daniel, and decided that there are some products you don't want to repeat for an equally bad reason. The next morning the pink slip was shuffled in the mail that was dropped at his desk.
He swatted at the mosquito again. Damn mosquitoes and their mission in life. Hell, he knew his blood couldn't taste all that well. He was pretty sure he was anemic, with weak and soupy blood. Then again, he was probably the only source for human blood for miles upon miles. Probably the only supply present in months, maybe years. He was a rare delicacy, though a poorly made one. Still rare.
That made him smile. A rare delicacy. He glanced at the gun sitting beside him. He had bought the gun barely four hours ago, and felt the smooth casing, and almost had an orgasm on the spot. He figured that since it was his last purchase, he could buy something slightly fancy. He had opted for a glock, and felt almost satisfied that there wouldn't be much of anything left after that bugger goes off. If there was one thing he learned from the advertising world, always go out with a bang.
A rare delicacy. The words re-echoed through his head. He tried zoning back into his life's existence, but the phrase mused in his ears, whispering like a lover. Then he frowned, concentrating on the words, until advertising genius suddenly drummed around him. He knew it. He knew it, he found it, and he knew it. An advertising idea that'll throw him back into the ring. A mosquito lighted on his arm, and instead of shooing it, he smiled down at the creature that got his creative juices flowing back in his brains. He wanted to kiss, make out with the creature that presented him with a brilliant idea that would make his name known throughout the advertising world. He was satisfied and delirious that he rekindled his existence of life. He stood up, a sharp profile against a setting sky, and cried out to the heavens as salvation alighted upon him. Maybe there was a God, a God who saved him in this brief moment where he thought all was lost.
He stared at the birds that flocked in the sky, small specs against a celestial canvas. He closed his eyes, savouring this moment, and they opened to once more drown in the beauty of life. Then a worry wrinkle in between his brows deepened. One of the specs had grown substantially bigger. The smile stopped, and the corners froze downwards once more. The spec was growing. He stepped backwards, instinct willing him to run, but curiosity willing him to stay. He focused onto the expanding spec, rapidly expoloding outwards as whatever it was quickly honed in on him.
Peter felt horror erupt inside him. He couldn't...no wouldn't believe, what was coming at him. Curiosity fell behind as disbelief took over, then quickly fear outdistanced both. A scream tore at his throat as he turned hastily away, only to slip on the glock he pruchased a mere four hours ago. He fell face down into the deserted decking, and gagging for breath he turned around just in time to see the monstrosity light before him.
"Sheesh, humans," the 10 foot mosquito said resolutely before plunging her sucker deep into Peter's brain, "too many running around without a damn clue."