Plastered (A Short Story)

Split. The art of multiplication either in few or many parts. One way one day, two ways another. Screen to screen is not face to face. The atmosphere shifts. The tension drives up the wall. Only small bits of familiarity comfortably connects each one back to the center source. One may even be preferred over the other. The want to display a person internally imagined feels better than what is truly underneath the surface. And eventually, the fantasy is loved while the real is hated.

All of these...friends. All of these...chances. Achieving everything with a dead smile that fools so many at one time. They ignorantly laugh with pleasure. The "joy" hollows with time. The world around stops feeling real and instead becomes a dream. Then goes the senses, the thoughts, the actions. Is anything actually happening? Did yesterday ever come?

10:30am and still in bed. Eyes shut tight. He sees it laying there. The brain inside debates on waking up or never moving again. He sees it laying there. That heart of His fills with compassion and empathy. Because He understands. The same question has turned constant and never ending it seems. But, that doesn't matter. It's this life. A life to pass by some day and not be remembered. The set up to the greatest or worst future ever created. He knows it, everyone knows it, even if they refuse to admit it. However until then, all that can be done is effort. To do right and keep pushing, with Him leading all of our lives.