Zamyat
19-02-2005, 03:14
A little piece of prose I call
That Guy...
His eyes are glazed with an inward stare. Before him glows a blank white square, a world unborn, a place where minds might one day play at make-believe. Gently the ideas flow, and he molds them on instinct, a phrase is struck, another rewritten, until all is polished, black and fine. A lovely vessel of ideas and hope sails out from him, his gift to the turbulent sea. There are so many like it – a huge flotilla of thought upon the frothy medium, boiling with excitement.
But his goes unnoticed, and is split, midway between bow and stern, by the bigger vessels. It sinks, broken in halves, to the bottom and the hope goes with it. He watches amazed as the froth swallows another of his children whole, without a burp of regret. He sees those big cruisers, the That Guys. Everyone knows That Guy. He's wonderful, unyielding in war, respected in peace, with allies and enemies and immortality assured. Sometimes, with a bittersweet smile, he watches a new vessel, fresh and shiny and full of hope, sail out and become a That Guy – and other times he stands in solemn silence, as one of the That Guys leaves forever, goes into the Great Beyond outside this microcosm, and the other That Guys say a few words of respect. Then on goes the world, everyone running, and him still falling behind. No matter his will, the world will still pass him by – Fate hath decreed, he shall never be a That Guy.
That Guy...
His eyes are glazed with an inward stare. Before him glows a blank white square, a world unborn, a place where minds might one day play at make-believe. Gently the ideas flow, and he molds them on instinct, a phrase is struck, another rewritten, until all is polished, black and fine. A lovely vessel of ideas and hope sails out from him, his gift to the turbulent sea. There are so many like it – a huge flotilla of thought upon the frothy medium, boiling with excitement.
But his goes unnoticed, and is split, midway between bow and stern, by the bigger vessels. It sinks, broken in halves, to the bottom and the hope goes with it. He watches amazed as the froth swallows another of his children whole, without a burp of regret. He sees those big cruisers, the That Guys. Everyone knows That Guy. He's wonderful, unyielding in war, respected in peace, with allies and enemies and immortality assured. Sometimes, with a bittersweet smile, he watches a new vessel, fresh and shiny and full of hope, sail out and become a That Guy – and other times he stands in solemn silence, as one of the That Guys leaves forever, goes into the Great Beyond outside this microcosm, and the other That Guys say a few words of respect. Then on goes the world, everyone running, and him still falling behind. No matter his will, the world will still pass him by – Fate hath decreed, he shall never be a That Guy.