The Cynic in LA

You know how we all long to be different and outstanding but yet relevant? I was the first half of the above but not the second part in the slightest.

I was a cynic and I still am. Let me take you back in time a little. I was 6 when I fell in love with the abstraction of Cynicism and Diogenes just made it way easier for me to fix my life on that.

Was it hard wanting to be different? I had a US senator as a mum and a Professor as a dad. What do you think?

I left home at 17 to carve my path in this cosmic ball that has been misfiring nothing worth aligning with. I must sound like a nerd right now. Lol. I don't think so. I flunked school so bad I gave up myself.

Look at me now, a 19 year old boy living in an empty, man-forsaken basement that used to be a large drama theatre. This is yet another one of those things that went extinct, and you have Netflix and HBO to thank for that.

Society never interested me. Don't get me wrong. I don't hate people. They intrigue me but nothing more.

How did I know about the Sun leaving Earth to go make out with the stars or the moon finding salvation in heaven and fleeing the Galaxy or whatever hangs up there?

It was another day where I drank booze and wiped my face with my unkempt dreadlocks which probably housed a thousand flies and nature's finest creeping things.

Solomon was wise, way wiser than his time. In allusion to his Proverbs, I don't get drunk ever. Other things I don't do are having my bath or walking about when the Sun is stalking.

The sun wasn't up that night and my candles were lit in my basement as I ate my Cheetos while watching two rats battle for my last night's burger leftovers. You think that's how God looks down on us, too?

"Aha ahah" I laughed so hard until my echoing voice felt heavy enough to slap a hair strand off my brown 'viking-looking' beards. I could have passed for a Viking, only that this was the 21st century and I was not 6 feet tall.

A strong rushing wind swarmed the room from the East side the window right above the towering height of the basement.

My eyes danced around their sockets in a bid to exchange greetings of "what the living Diogenes was that?". This was the most action this basement had seen in 20 plus years and I wasn't going to be left out of these theatrics.

I got up from the leather chair with my belly as the biggest man in the room. The wind wasn't the only unusual thing that happened that night.

There were screams, screeching noises and cries that reminded me of Dante. Was this what hell sounded like? Lucky me then. This basement can pass as a church and that should earn me a place in heaven.

I wasn't scared. That's a 19th century word, I was terrified. Anyone who knew LA as the selfish and quiet place where no one could give two bird poos about your existence would have felt this way.

I approached the steel door that was about 150 metres from where I was and the screams only got louder as I neared the windows and door.

I was a little too obsessed with the anarchic screams that I hadn't paid attention to the outside world that was reflecting nothing but darkness through the window. I increased my pace and not too long after, another wind, maybe stronger than the last, whooshed through the whole basement from all angles and put out all the 17 candles I had lit in the basement.

"What the Aristotlean Republic is this?" I whispered in a room full of more wind that felt like unusual and creepy company.

"Dyeo, is this where we kiss the not-so-good world goodbye?" I asked myself as I shook rhythmically as my teeth clapped on the others below rhythmically.

I'd always wondered what blunt my mum smoked when my name came out of her head.

Speaking of blunt, I remembered I had an antique lighter that belonged to my grandfather in my back pocket. I reached out my fingers to pick it up while my breathing paced as this little action felt like hardwork to my body.

I panted and sighed right after as I opened the lighter and used my right palm to cover the side of the already flaming fire that the wind was fiercely hitting on.

I traced my steps towards the first Polymer clay stand where I'd put the first candle and lit it as I walked to the end of the room where I had my supplies. This was no time for Tinkerbell to be playing tricks as I searched the one bag of many I had here.

My fingers clanked as I hit the iron lantern that was in my bag. This was one of the things I stole from mum's home museum. She had no use for it, and I, on the other hand did.

I shook it slightly, and there wasn't much fuel in it.

"Here we go, Tinkerbell". I said to the lantern as I opened the hatch to light it up.

With the candle on the ground staring jealously at my white face that gushed over Tinkerbell's beauty, I opened my mouth and mockingly wiggled my tongue at it as I turned away towards the door to see the outside world whose screams had not died.

With one leg outside the door and my face being the only visible thing as far as the eyes could see, I hurriedly returned inside and closed the door quickly behind me as my breath paced.