I fell out of the sky like a tremendous thunder, rolling down and washing over the scenery. It felt blue – the green grass, the gray road, the few lonely flowers. Everything with its lonesome colour, it engulfed me and it whispered, hissed and yawned. I was boring the very ground I was shaped from.
“Tinkerbell is a whore,” I told no one as I got up and wiped the mud off my face. “She’s a bloody cold-hearted whore and she can very well hear it.”
I walked past the waterfall – the one everyone should know and no one ever saw. The one people have wondered about. The one akin to the great fucking love of their life. The one they think they could jump into and survive the fall. The one who doesn’t exist. I wished I had a cigarette, because waiting for something without having one is like masturbating without touching yourself. You wish things would happen, but nothing will and eventually you fall asleep.
Wisdom was lost to me, because waiting for something that would never come was about as useful as washing your hair and walking in the rain. Have you ever seen the rain? Bitch I might. It was pouring when I turned a corner. Karma’s a luxury whore, I thought.
“Fairy tale? Well, fuck you.”
I wondered briefly if the Devil walks through cities and claims people because he’s craving pickles. I realised he could have the fucking pickles if he wanted. I remembered briefly the time we met, but it was pointless, because he didn’t.
I walked down the lonely road (the only one that I have ever known) and witnessed a couple being hit by a truck.
“Fairy cunt,” I said and kept driving the same truck I had since I was sixteen.