cycle,

Literary: Cycle

12/05/2014 08:38:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments



Here I am again, walking home from school, walking the same damned alley across the same damned streets, crossing the same damned things. I have memorized this damned environment by traversing through this route hundreds of times.

In this route is a boulder. Not big enough to be conspicuous but not small enough to be moved by one person alone. This particular boulder is interesting because of the fact that it has been covered with so much graffiti that its face can no longer be seen clearly and each day, several more are added to it--names, swearwords, phone numbers. All the paraphernalia of faceless people I will never meet.

Each time I go home, there is not one time when I have not stopped by this rock, this memento of faceless, nameless people, waiting. Waiting for something, anything. But nothing happens. In a sense, the people who wrote on this rock are better off than I am. They will have legacies after they die while I will be the faceless nameless someone.

But for now, I keep on walking.

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