Chronicles of Youth
this is the same shor story as before, improved. I've removed a couple of elementary errors and rephrased a couple of sentences.....anyway
Chronicles of Youth
The young man stopped to fill his lungs with fresh, unpolluted air as he was continiuing on his journey. The road was covered with ice and the orange electrical light of the street lamps illuminated it, creating dancing sparkles across the frozen pavement. The cold had slowly been wearing him down and he was now deep within its realm. He was content. The young man enjoyed the thrilling sensation of physical pain, it seemed benevolent in comparison to the alternative. As always, the music accompanied him, brightening his perception of the world, rendering it almost a habitable place.
The house had now appeared in the distant, barely distinguishable from the other uniformed buildings in the area. Even from this distance it was impossible to disregard the gloomy light, streaming out of the house's many windows. He desperately sought a reason for the lights being on that in some way differed from the obvious. "Maybe she is asleep and she forgot to turn off the lights" he thought, knowing that this was but a futile dream. He took a deep breath and went on.
He reached the front door without any further complications. He knew what waited behind that door. He had imagined several different scenarios in which he would come home undetected, all of them naïve and futile. The frozen door knob let out a squeeling sound destroying whatever chance he had of slipping past her. As the door opened, warm air flowed, as if to stop him from entering. After one final moment of resolution, he stepped over the threshhold separating the warmth from the cold. There she was, a couple of metres in front of him. She had been made aware of his coming by the treacherous door knob and she was smiling at his direction. Horror. He pretended that he had not noticed her over-sized grin and began forcing his clothes off of his body. "Hi" She said with that rutinous sound of a church bell, forcedly rung by a greater power. He tried to answer but the words would not make the short distance between his mind and his tongue. She looked at him awkwardly and after a few moments, when he had let out a moaning murmur of words, she nodded in agreement and her eyes were drawn back to the TV. He gently stepped into the living room and headed for the sofa. He looked at her. Her mind was currently absent as her blank eyes stared into the TV. This television set had been running as long as he had remembered. It did not make a difference whether it was night or day, cold or warm. Always would this hellish machine run, penetrating his ears with loud incoherent voices all claiming their fabricated feelings. He was too tired to move, so he decided to stay a bit longer, it seemed the torture would not be too intense this particular day. His eyes were drawn to the TV, showing some unfathomably stupid people walking about talking about nothing. The ecstacy of non-existance took hold of him as his thoughts and emotions were rendered inactive.
The numb silence was interrupted by the words, which were sure to come sooner or later. The words "How was your day" had been uttered so many times in this room that the very walls were shriekingly begging her to stop, but she bestowed upon them no mercy. The words had been spoken. He looked at her once again, this time inspecting her thoroughly. He studied her bloated features and her deeply rinkled face. To think that she had been different. She had been like him, young, enterprising, dreaming. All had been lost in this intellectual anomaly that was sitting in front of him, patiently waiting for the answer. This was how it all ended up. In the end, you cannot escape the decline of the creative mind, for the human society is its worst enemy, a foe, you could not take lightly. The body will consume the mind sooner or later.
Once again she asked him how his day had been, as if though he had not heard her the first time, and once again she was left without an answer. Then came the second horrific line of words, that had echoed in this same living room day after day. "What's wrong, is it a girl?". That was it. He rose up and screamed with all his might: " Fuck this! Fuck all of this!" and he grabbed his clothes and his most valued possesions, opened the door in a fierce manner, and slammed it behind him letting forth an orchestra of sounds. It was to this beautiful music he danced away. They both knew, that this was the last time the walls would ever have to suffer through those horrid words. The bloated warden had not turned her gaze from the TV and it had not turned its gaze from her.
