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Calculate

This is the first part of a short story I started…with let you know when I have more…;)

PhilosopherPoet

 

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Alex walked into the Kitchen. It was 9 o’clock at night and he needed more tea. He found things easier in the darkness. In the evening, he could concentrate and feel alive. He poured the small sea of sugar into his cup. So untouched and innocent, he thought. It was the first time in weeks that he’d begun to think of things other than himself. It was disconcerting, and one could even say distracting. He placed his cup in the microwave, it meant that he could cook the teabag beyond what normal people thought was ok. It would first boil…then hiss. After a good ten minutes, it would split open under the pressure and spill it’s insides into the rest of the liquid. Now that thought was probably more comforting than drinking the tea itself.

He grinned and looked up at the ceiling while he waited for the monotone hum of the microwave to stop. Tonight he was excited. He was in a different mood for some reason. Something about the stillness and the seemingly loud sounds that came from his movements…bred a chilling possibility.

*

The following day while he walked back from school, a thought came to him. He let it sit there in the last empty corner of his head. He watched it. He listened.

Calculate, he told himself. His Math teacher had told him the same thing a thousand times, although she didn’t know someone like Alex would listen so closely. Calculate meant more to Alex than simply finding an answer. It meant waiting. You had to first listen to the clock ticking in your head, before you could rip out another question. Sit in the examination of your own thoughts…and decisions.

Calculate meant listen to the variables. Feel the pulse of events that flow through this single decision…and decide where to put them. Alex reached for the golden door knob between him and his house. The door knob between him, a belligerent mother, and a drunken father. He went inside, passed the boiled faces shouting his name. They seemed so hollow now, it was almost as if their voices had now peeled off him like paint, escaped into the air.

Alex walked up to his room, the wooden steps sounding more solid.

Calculate.

That was all he could do now. He shrugged on his earphones, and continued to listen to his favorite song…Eaten from the Inside. He believed the words. Every time he listened to the murderous drum beat, he felt calmer. Now that thought he had brewing in his head, grew into a full-sized idea.

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