Sweet idea Frownland (and some great writing too), you inspired me to write one of my own.
Daydream Society - Deconstruct
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The steps leading down to the apartment door are always covered in the mud from his shuffling feet. He trudges back and forth through the fields in a monotonous cycle. He fumbles his keys as he always does and leaves the door unlocked as he used to do, and he slides to the spot on the floor where he always lays. The long hard days at work have done a number on his young back, and it only feels right when he's laying flat.
He remembers that he forgot the only thing he was looking forward to that day, and it's ironic that perhaps the addiction clouds his brain enough to the point where he forgets he's addicted. Maybe that's for the best. Now that it's back to the forefront of his brain, he wanders over to the window. After he's done he attempts to mask the smell so she won't know when she comes home.
Maybe this weekend he'll call his friends, but he'd rather not. He wonders if he does it because of some sort of obligation to himself. Things are always better when he forgets it and lies on the floor. Maybe he'll write a song this time and show all of those friends, and they'll act interested without truly grasping the message as they always do. Maybe she'll come home and act interested for the sake of his sanity, but she'll probably head straight to bed.
Maybe he'll snap at some point. What kind of existence is lying flat on the floor, wanting to do something productive yet being unable to find the will to do anything? That's the drug talking, he tells himself, but yet maybe it only seems to unleash the deeper inner thoughts that a sober mind refuses to think. Maybe on any given day he'll make a better life and person of himself, or maybe on any given night he could cease to exist. He realizes the pointlessness of it all, but then he looks up and sees the doorknob turning. And then a flicker of light in his heart.
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