Boredem

Yes, they were talking to me all right. Not that I could understand what they were saying. To me it was “scrunch, scrunch”. Yeah I’m talking about the salad over there, in front of my plate. Now salads don’t usually talk. Hell, vegetables are not supposed to talk but I didn’t care about any of it now. I was tired from walking all over campus the whole day with a rucksack on my back and my brain was overloaded with linear array differential equations. Talking salads were least of my concerns, and I wanted to get my food, place my tray, and sit.

“Scrunch scrunch”

Yeah the salads could scrunch on whatever they liked but I wasn’t going to respond. I glanced at them, green leaves, purple lettuce and yellow paprika. At least the paprika was good. It made the least commotion, and most of all, it was healthy. My tray was already filled over half with yellow. That was my book though, not the salad. It was the reason to all this asphyxiation. Should I open it? But the line was going to move soon and I didn’t want to get any nasty glances from those around me. I turned the volume up, and words surfed their way through my ear canal to my brain. Lapping waves of melodies turned into tidal waves and crashed in white foams on my brain-shore. Hormones sprayed in blue coldness and sizzled upon my steaming cortex. But the relief was transient, and the high was the new low. This adaptability, I cursed. The plate rattled and the content scrunched. Time leaked itself through the walls, melting on the tray, condensing on my brow. My hand, it was on the book, wetting its cover all over. Even the leaves stopped their chatter, frightened by the bloodstruck eyes fighting down the urge.

With a jolt, the line moved.

I closed the half-open book and proceeded along the line.

#antoniostark #essay #time