Paint The Sky
I know what they’re thinking. They’re asking themselves if they actually saw the man on the side of the road. They’re asking if he really exists. They will never truly know, but it doesn’t matter. In a matter of seconds, they will forget about the man, and continue discussing the economy and what has become of it. I know the truth, though. I sit on the back of the bus and watch as three heads in front of me turn in hopes of catching another glance at the man walking beside the road. For no more than three seconds they wonder if he was real or simply a figment of their imaginations.

The subconscious mind is a powerful thing. It often interrupts your daily activities, and sometimes takes over completely. But I know the truth. I know about the man. Everything is imaginary in this world: the bus I ride on, the people who turned their heads. Nothing is real. A world with milky white skies everyday can’t be real. This is nothing more than a dream. It’s a never ending dream, and I can’t wake up.

I look up and wish I could see through the roof of the public bus. Perhaps, if I want it enough, I’ll be able to. I stare intently, hoping to see the cloudless sky and black birds above me. From the corner of my eyes I see other heads look up. They’re curious as to what I’m looking at. They think maybe it’s the fly carelessly walking upside down. I stare, but I only see the fly against the white roof of the bus. I give up and look out the window. We’re almost to my stop. The whistling of the old brakes signals the stop. I grab my things and shuffled amongst the people on the crowded bus to get off.

I look around, standing on the street corner with my bag. Now what? I look up to see the cloudless sky and black birds above me. I see the milky white sky, and soon a flock of birds fly overhead. A slight smile appears on my face. I look around and notice a handful of people gathered around me, looking up. I laugh inside. Silly fools--they’re not real; it doesn’t matter what they do. I push past them and walk down the lonely street. Admiring the tall buildings surrounding me, I walk into a light post. I look around and see people walking down sidewalk. No one seemed to notice me. “Watch where you’re going” I yell at the post. A man, who happened to be walking very close to me as I yelled, jumped back a little, then continued walking, looking back for a moment with an ignorant hope of getting an answer. A few other people looked my way then continued with their lives, forgetting all about me. I smile and continue to walk down the sidewalk.

I went into a small restaurant and ordered a muffin. Moments later a plate appeared on my table. I held up the muffin that sat there and examined it. What does it matter if I eat? Nothing’s real here. I focus on the muffin, and then my eyes move past it to the rust color ceramic plate. There is a small container of butter sitting next to a dull butter knife. I put the muffin down and pick up the rod of steel. The light hit it, and I smiled. I gently ran my finger along the dull, ridged edge. I sighed in content at the tingle my finger fell. I delicately ran the blade over the soft, vulnerable underside of my wrist. I smiled at the sensation. “I’m sorry,” the child apologized as he bumped into me and continued taking napkins back to his seat. The boy caused me to drop the knife. I looked at him for a moment before looking at the knife fallen on the ground. A waitress was over soon to pick it up, and take it back to the kitchen. She said she would be back in a minute with a clean knife. I told her not to bother.

I looked in my bag, and grabbed a rattling bottle of pills. I put two on my tongue and sucked them down with water. My psychiatrist said I had a problem identifying the difference between reality and imagination. She said I often confuse the two. I live in my imagination more than the world’s reality. I agreed to take my medication and to try to accept everything as reality, but a world with milky white skies everyday can’t be real.

I sighed, drank more water, and left a few bills on the table before grabbing my bag and walking out the door. The jingle bells attached to the door rattled and sang as I opened it, and it closed behind me. I looked up; the sky had gotten a little darker, but was still cloudless. I continued walking down the street. A few blocks down, I stood at another bus stop. A bus soon arrived, and I got on and sat in an empty seat, not caring where the bus was going. I put my bag against the window and laid my head against it. I soon fell asleep.

“Hey, this is the last stop, you have to get off,” rang a deep voice. I slowly opened my eyes. The bus had stopped, and the driver turned around. He was agitated with me. I wiped my eyes, stood, and slowly walked off. I set my bag down by my feet and rubbed my face with my hands. I opened my eyes and looked up.

The sky was no longer milky white or cloudless. Magnificent clouds surrounded by brilliant colors littered the sky. I took a deep breath, rubbed my eyes, and looked again. Bright rays from the large sun leaked down to the ground. I looked up at a hill. The trees were nothing more than silhouettes and shadows against the magenta sun. In that instant, I knew everything would be okay. The milky white skies were gone; replaced by the brilliance of the sunset. I smiled, admiring the magnificence the real world sometimes offered. I wish I could capture that image; capture the sky at this exact moment, and let it never leave my head. I wish I could paint the sky.

StarPoet   StarPoet wrote
on 2/22/2009 3:52:49 PM
I like your details. You paid attention to the little things, which led into one big finish and a great read. Good job!

penname   penname wrote
on 2/21/2009 5:24:38 PM
yes, depth is an understatement. but the images and the style you wrote unraveled the readers mind like a wooly sweater with a pulled string caught on a nail. I can't even find the creative words to describe or comment, but this was a joy to read. Imagination and perception and insight, loaded!

SapphireCat   SapphireCat wrote
on 2/21/2009 2:16:06 PM
You are truly a talented writer. This is awesome. I can't believe you were fifteen when you wrote this.

Short Story
writing Ronnie_Elliv
Writing; my anti-drug.
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Rating: 10.0/10

What happens when you don't believe in reality? (1066 words)
A Word from the Writer
This is something I wrote when I was fifteen. This is one of the first pieces I really took much pride and put a lot of effort towards editing it and making it the best I could. This is kind of what started it all. Four years later and I have a novel published.