Everyone was wrapped up in their own plastic coating; they were sitting where their eyes couldn't shine on each other so no one could see the dark colors rise up over them like water from the deepest part of the ocean. We were letting the time slip by even though it came in waves upon waves; flashes of post cards from the times in our lives just playing like a reel in a movie theater, flipping so fast that we couldn't see the nothing in between each moment of time anymore. I was sweltering in the midday sun, the cars were zipping by, and in each one each person driving was so caught up in their own world that they didn't know that I existed. Hell, for all I knew I could just be a split second of an image in their entire world, nothing more than an abstract, unconscious, visual blur of their life. Or I could be their husband, or their arch nemesis. We were all just possibilities of relations to each other. I felt like a kid.
My eyes were still opened wide, looking at a world and wanting to see beauty that shook the sky and kissed the sun and fell in love with the earth and the water and the wind, but taking in all of the human greed and misfortune that they had never though of. We were all children constantly struggling to stay children, and the adults were constantly trying to steal it from us. It made me think about who was the first adult and why they would want to be one; the first person to want something more than childhood? All gore and all, swearing and adults killing each other, children with old faces spitting on the ground and people in jobs fantasizing about rape all day; it's so much and it tears away at the spine and makes you into something new, something that looks out with lazy eyes and speaks with a dry tongue. My idea was that I'd try to escape it all.
But to be honest, not everyone turns into an adult. The wind and sun and water and trees all escape it every day. I thought what I'd do was I'd become a deaf mute; I'd just turn away from the images of those future days and recreate them into something new, take apart the puzzle and put the piece all in the wrong order so that you wouldn't even be able to tell what the original picture used to be. It'd just be a mess of color that way, a mess of color that you'd have to piece apart yourself, look for a new image, something with a smile on it, or maybe a frown, or a hand to the sky, outside of a moving car and sound waves washing over it. So maybe when we look behind and see all the cars moving with us in our direction, we'd stop by and really join them, link hands across the pavement and we move forward. The sky might shatter, and the trees all get up and move, and it might look like a mess of color, but at least there won't be Armageddon on the horizon of the sky we look at.
No.
There'd be the rest of us, endlessly youthful, constantly dying, and unanimously conscious.
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