by V. Z. Marcus

Created on: September 21, 2009

Philip

The aging man is propped up in a stupor with his soda can and remote control. He sees nothing but the television and cares nothing for the sounds that were coming from the alleyway outside on the street. It doesn't bother him. Instead, he is unaware. He smells and feels and hears and fears; but his life is small. The cigarette on the table was burning out and the whisky was calling him. Fly's assailed food left uneaten, and warm air was blowing up from the deep. His eyes were slowly closing but something kept them open. He rocked forth slowly in his old leather chair.

He was thinking of earlier that same day, when he had visited the laundry mat on the corner to flirt with his neighbor, the dog that tried to bite him. Then he remembered the look on her face when he flared up in fear. It would have been warranted had the dog been larger. It was mere filthy beagle, unrestrained by the most ignorant of owners. He was so embarrassed he had to flee. His house was only a few blocks away, and he planned on returning the next day. He picked up the remote control and changed the channel. He changed another and then stood up and walked to the table.

He sat down and thought about the future. Then he thought about the past, and the future again. He was troubled by the things he couldn't see, and how the only sentence he was ever granted was life in prison. He scratched his skin and rubbed his brow, which was covered in a thick, unrelenting moisture. A towel would have been better; anything but his soiled hands. The man looked down at the food left from the night before and realized he might be going insane. Why else was he living alone.

The porch light was on. It was always on and that's the way he wanted it. Day and night the light remained bright and secure by the door. It wasn't that he was afraid of the night, he just preferred the day. He worked at a small convenient store and drove a small car. The smallness was becoming too much. He wanted to change.

When he was younger he had longer hair and a smile that drew people in. He was stronger and faster and had more to do with the time that was given to him. Now the days are much shorter. He remembered his health, and a place he once visited down in a little field outside of the city. It was always a welcome place in any season, but he preferred the early fall; when the leaves and green of things were loosing their confusion and everything so swiftly simplified. It was close to his heart. Simplicity.

He

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