He thought he was part of an agenda, an agenda that goes against the simplicity of everyday routine. The moment he embraced the unfaithfulness of the World, he loved himself more; his living in disbelief made so much sense as he ignored the pricking deceit he faced. He enjoyed being numb. For once, he could see his always-moist-eyes dry.
He barely slept during the night and lived the day, lethargic and listless, much to the agony of the Sun. He fell asleep on his plate of fried vegetable, something that expected the dampness of the drool. He thought the buzz of the day calmed his haunting thoughts that usually visited him during the night. I am so made for the other side of the planet, he often thought. My body is dead in my sleep. And so am I. My eyes go on for a roll at a time when they are supposed to see colored dreams. This pill I take, for whatever reason, is a mere catalyst for peace, he said when I asked him about his metastable dullness at night.
And the reason played hide-and-seek. While I put this thought here battling my sleep at the dead of the night, he's busy counting tears with a useless piece of cloth in his hand. I could easily boast of my content in my everynight diary but I it robs me off my smile looking at his state of a 24-hour cycle. And I fear his fear infecting me but the reason still hasn't surfaced thanks to the mystery and selfishness.
Much to my surprise, it only took a tight slap on his face, red enough to explain the mystery. Filth & Froth, he began. Little did I know that if I hugged a toy, it would fart on my face. If I kissed a rose, it would taste of wither. If I looked at a lovely painting, it would spit paint all over me. If I touched silk, it would send a bolt of shock through my fingertips. He paused. I ignored the on-going silence that instilled the highest sense of thought in my mind. And then, I cursed. I tried to fish out smiles from the beautiful river that surrounded me but I just found the froth of the dross. I saw smirk for a smile. I saw a finger for a gesture. I saw deceit for trust. He paused again. I wondered if I was anywhere visible while he narrated his story of agony, in broken, meaningful, striking style.
Yet, I kept my hand rock-steady. I had one reason left to forget the froth. But, like they say even 1% is a possible probability. I noticed the boil even in the love that now seems feigned. If this isn't Filth, then what is?
That was it. I needed nothing more than those few bleeding words. I left him to his world, curled up in the corner of the room. I switched on the light, for him to be the morose one; hoping the darkness to stay away forever.
And I... switched off the light and switched on my alter-ego.