September 24, 2012
My fingers slide and slip on the keys of my keyboard as I am acceptably forming the pieces to an essay. The oil from my sweaty palms begins to saturate the plastic letters of my portable computer. Glistening in the ceiling light from my dining room table, the pasty keys stick to my fingers as I lift them up after every pound from the so-called “concrete” writing assignment. As I shuffle through one of the millions of Frito-Lay cheese flavored chip bags, the brainstorming starts to thunder and clash as the possible ideas clatter into another competing for the fame to be jotted down upon my screen. A tornado of thoughts run through my head. The longer I think, the more the thundering competition weakens with excitement. Until there are no competitors left. They all give up, forcing my brain to postpone the competition. Leaving my eyes to deal with the stress to find a solution. My sight is resolved to taking the burden. My vision clouds with anticipation that it may accidentally fall upon a worthy object for hire. What “thing” can possibly be qualified for the concrete essay that is falling on my shoulders? My pile of chips is slowly starting to recede into the bag as time forces them to be consumed by an oblivious being stationed at a computer screen. The tick tock goes by and by until the time seems to not even matter anymore. My contenders have given up to the roll of being casted as the concrete thing. I will soon be casted into a zombie with an unknown sense of thought or direction. In the gleam of the hanging 60 watt bracket above the table, there sat the last cheese encrusted survivor of its kind. The pores of its air punctured shell hollowed out from the oxygen it was born into. The outside skin consisting of a tainted camouflage scheme of yellow and orange. Its stale cheese powder was stale from the time spent out in the harsh environment of the oxygen. It had been hiding...
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