YAY MORE COMPOSITIONAL WRITING. Wait no I mean, more fiction. : )

So I’m not narrating, gosh.

It’s tiresome you know? Waking up everyday to the same routine. I woke up today, thinking the same old thing as I do every morning, “Another great day to work – not.” Lets not discuss my morning, it’s nothing special. Heck, I’d even go as far as to say my whole life is nothing special. It’s bland, tasteless – bitter.

I work at a construction site. Yes, one of those rugged, tired and brainless workers you see piloting those machines, moving piles of dirt from one side, to another. We’re not ignorant of the world, you know. We understand that working on the site isn’t anything to be proud of. We know that you dislike us, call us stupid, mean, and unloved.

I did a slight hop, trying to test my spatial awareness. I skipped my morning cup of coffee today, since I ran out, and thus more tired than before. Climbing into the bulldozer, I had a feeling. It was, and awkward feeling. I felt alone, unloved and useless. My co-workers were some 50 meters away, planning out today’s lunch – they always liked lunch. Lunch, to them, was the epitome of relief. It was the moment in life, where you can just sit back and relax – free from the world. Eating lunch, was the moment where all of us could die happy. It was a vibrant moment, unlike the dull lives we all lived. I think they said something about getting Chinese takeout today. Us Caucasians, you see, have a strange fascination with orient food. Chinese, Japanese, Korean, and Filipino were all luxuries to have. I for one, had no particular interest in their food. I enjoyed solely the feeling of having lunch, rather than the lunch itself.

Back to work.

The engine gave me a satisfying ‘VVVRMMM’ sound, as if to say “Let’s work!” Life may be dull as my bread knife, but at least the machinery was optimistic. So I worked.

It was a tiring day, so tiring that even lunch seemed to be a bore. Lunch being unappealing was a new sensation for me. I couldn’t help but think that something inside me had ticked long enough, and finally blew. I opened the side door of the dozer, and sprang out with a jump. Landing on the ground, I couldn’t help but notice the emptiness around me. The world seem to be filled with void. Well then again, it was past 6 meaning it was quite dark already. I could barely see, it was amazing how I could even do my job properly before.

No one was around, the eerie silence was penetrating. Surprising, isn’t it? How silence could hurt one’s ears. The sound of nothing was a pain. I could feel each receptor in my ear screaming “GIVE US SOUND”. It was maddening. Then suddenly, a sound, TV buzz-like sound appeared. It grew louder and louder, eventually surpassing that of nothing. Becoming quite skeptical, I quickly spun around eagerly focusing on every object. My eyes darted around, never concentrating on any one point. A cold wind blew, spilling it contents all over my cheek. The numbness was beginning to settle in, as would any human standing motionless yet alert when it was negative 4 degrees out.

I could now hear cracking, with each second passing by slower than it did before. I was tense, there was no past, present, nor future on my mind, only the cracks. Unable to bare such strains anymore, I quickly bolted towards to exit.

Then it hit me.

Literally.

The screech, smash and thud sequence was one I would always remember.

But one can one remember, when they’re lost? Emotionless beings, void of passions, senses or personality.

That was what I had become.

My bland life suddenly took a turn, a sharp 180 degree turn. It was now… disgusting. The air tasted bitter as the low pressure system within me was filled.

Poking from under the covers of my jacket, a box labeled “EDO” looked at me. There was a yellow shape attached to it, whipping the box with each passing gust. The trees swayed with the wind, dancing their own unique little dance. The shape detached itself, smacking me in the face. Unwilling to move any other part of me, I held the shape down with my chin, staring down to read the words.

“Thanks for your hard work, John,” it read. “We appreciate you staying overtime for us. We left you a gift, hope it sweetens your day.”

Mother nature seemed to know it was her cue to move, exhaling a gust, a mini-torando of sorts, my direction. The note, slipping from underneath my chin, fluttered off in the moonlight.

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