This piece explores the absurd. It is my favorite piece from my first creative writing portfolio. (2017)
Immersed in color, the old, greyed man, who dresses in white scrubs stands stiff, head swaying. Ever so slightly it sways. And his eyes, his eyes are definitely there, definitely real, but they are glossed, ghost-like, erratic spine-shivers ensuing. A piercing scream sounds slices through the air with razor sharp precision. Quickly, that old man twists his body, arms flailing to the side and forward. More screams—a crowd of them, which sound so singular, it is strange. A single white beam shoots forward and again his body twists and flails. His face is ashen, shocked, but under that expression his energy boils, threatening to melt all surroundings—air turns to steam, a purple, red, and blue haze. “Where am I?” he thinks. “I think I like this.” Emotions get stuck, staying lodged in the folds of his esophagus. More beams of light shoot out rapidly like bullets from the gun of a trigger happy cop. That old man dances a dance reminiscent of epileptic seizures, picking up the rhythm of those beams of light which shoot out with a soft treble sound.
That old man falls on his face to the ground then curls into a fetal position. Had everything imploded on him? Vibrations move cell walls; red blood cells groove left and right. Rhythmic bass shakes his body forward like war cannons do and silver catches in his eye. It sparkles. The greyed, old man’s pained expression gradually dissolves into one matching a child seeing a simple flame for the first time: drawn in, curious, and afraid. Drawn in so that his body is numb to the jerk of the gravity-less ground underneath him, which has been supporting his ascent, his magnificent ascent. His head follows his eyes which rise slowly as the sunset hues encircle him. It is then that he realizes he is in fact not in an abnormal abyss. Walls fade to pink, orange yellow, red, maroon and soon the sun sets and he is engulfed in the night, in which many things usually happen. So, he suddenly wishes for a random happenstance because if this were real, he would not know it. But he sees himself—lines in a curly, jumbled motion in the shape of his anatomy, following behind his every movement. He is in the stars and who would remember that constellations were actually that big. He is in the universe, while a universe grows in him. “Life seems so wondrous, adventurous when you take the time to look at what exists.” He wears the expression of a child again. The stars pulsate so soft. Ever so slightly they pulse. A single tear escapes his eye, but falls gradually against his wrinkled skin. All around him everything is more. Those pulsating stars grow as they pulsate more like his rising heart rate. Zoom! He would soon be in another dimension as every star zooms past and blur into single lines of motion, which would then dissolve into one complex, solid color. But he does not look, his eyes are tightly shut for a reason he does not know. One moment, he is amongst the stars, then, next he is back on earth, in a deep dark place on earth. The white scrubs, which he still wears, stick to his body, wet. Unexpectedly, his hand bolts to the base of his neck and he appears to be yawning, but really, a pressure squeezes his body close. “Relax.” He thinks. His whole body exhales life and regret and blame and depression and becomes limp. He simply floats… like how he did through life before.