The balls of their feet dug deep into the sand as they stood staring long at that whale carcass.
"I wonder why he's out here and not in there!"
One of the townsfolk shouted, barely thinking about his sentence before firing it high speed from his drooling maw. Mostly he could have thought about his word choice and sentence structure. Instead he thought about wheat. All of it soaked in old water. Water that'd been standing in a bucket for weeks. He thinks about some pun, probably about water not having legs and thus not being able to stand. He's bretahing with his mouth and pointing like some kind of chimp. He has potato chip crumbs on his shirt, and a milk stain on his pants. Potato chips and milk? What a disgusting mix. His hair is clean but not combed. Just some sort of tuft, dancing in the faint evening breeze on the beach. It's thin, his hair and the color is a brassy red...almost bronze in the setting sunlight. His head is near perfectly round, and he has an awkward double chin. The kind of double chin you or I could only have if we pulled our heads back and looked down with our whole heads. The kind of double chin that wrinkles into a thousand tiny pockets and folds around the actual chin. He's not fat. He has a bit of a gut, but he's not fat. His eyes are grey and beedy and too close together. His eyebrows are furrowed and unkempt, and his sandy skin is covered in freckles. He's wearing cargo board shorts, kahki. A Corona t-shirt, with a blue and white, thin short sleeved flannel shirt over that. His zeppelin flip-flops dangling from one hand and the hand he points while barely gripping a beer and a cigarette.
He stood, pointing with his mouth a-gape for what felt like an eternity. Finally the rest of the townspeople turned slightly to acknowledge his comment, however foolishly delivered it may have been and went back into their homes.
He fell down to his knees in the sand, dropped his "zeppelin-flops", his beer and his smoke, opened his arms, shouted and fell face first into the sand. He began to cry, and fell asleep, drunk and euphoric, a stupid silly blaze of life dreaming in the sand, with the sun setting over the ocean, the beach, the town and that dead whale.
Current Mood: |
 borting torting malorggenshirr |
Current Music: |
The Unicorns-I'm Ready to Die. |
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dead_horses's journal
nervous
derrp
Thanks baby.