The End Is The Beginning Is The End

Narrative....

 

I lie nestled within my rut of daily routine beneath the vast Western stars....the time of my own discontent and the icy haziness that surrounds it grows colder with each coming night....each night growing longer by each hour...each hour growing colder and colder and colder.....I look out my basement windows into the pale silvery moon that now hangs so low along the horizon, that it barely peeks above the black outlines of the houses and the poles and the starry long night...my days have grown so short now, that I barely see sunlight, each day becomes unto another that is plunged in darkness, where the few remaining hours of daylight that peeks about are hours consumed by my work....

 

work....I plunge into it daily, becoming the daily normal routine of grudingly drudging along with my duties in mass production....let me tell you my friends, in the end, we all sell out somehow, something of ourselves in our daily routines as drones here in this mass concrete maze I now make my habitat...only here I find my rare meditative solitudes within the confines of what is familiar, the task at hand, just for something to do...just for something to do...the nights never seem to end....

and then home again to the dreary depths of my bane existence...where I may find some solace and riposte within a hot shower and a can of some food over the sink or whutever is in the fridge....where I lose myself in front of the TV, its familiar cheery glow within my confines, beneath the western sky within the concrete maze in the Gateway to The North...and it never
ever
changes....

 

from day to day to day to day until they all become the maddening sameness and familiarity..the same faces on the bus each morning...the same songs on the radio all day at work where you trudgingly toil...the same stupid jokes and comments....the same problems that need to be fixed...the day aftre day after day becoming the same until days, weeks, months of maddening toil pass for a whole YEAR in.....the same walls you stare at all day, and the same ceiling you stare at each night...wondering where that Western moon lies beyond its confines...wondering who else sees it, or even notices it there like I do....

 

and now the end of the year fast approaches

 

christmastime

 

and new years

 

that strange season of banal formalities, of niceties, of forced smile s and hugs and pinches for everyone to share and to be shared...everyone…

 

except me

 

alone in the western moon’s glow through my half-empty basement suite window

 

with my two felines that purr beneath my feet

 

and think:

has anything changed?

 

........

 

 

have I changed as well?

 

 

...........

 

 

(each moment without knowing her smile makes me anxious and lost)

Author's Note

Please ignore grammatical errors....

Reviews

[Andy Toews]

I like the writing style, it's a good short story and I can really relate to the character in the story, and remember every end brings a new beginning