Anomaly

We were in a decent pub where everyone was slightly passive and attentive at the same time, resting after a venture up the mountains. I was seated between two people who were not getting along and who I never really knew, their past I could not even bear to speak about. I loathed their story, but they were there. We started scourging around the hall to get some food. As I sat again, the tense was still there. They did not take the opportunity while beings were moving around to change their positions and I grew tired of the idleness. The table was gone and reappeared, my fixation drowning.

I looked over the window to see a very rich garden-laden street that just hit home. I remember the music that I came to like when I gained consciousness and awareness of what is to be and become. There were fences and wonderful greens around. I decided to have a walk, the outside was rather cold and dull, although I could not feel it one bit, my senses incompetent. I took my camera with me and slid it inside a blue plastic along with other things I have that I did not mind at the moment.

As I went outside onto my left, I no longer saw nature, instead, I saw dead slumps. I was alone again. The street went narrower and I descended to the lower level of the way until I saw a beautiful vulnerability of a concept. I saw a tree struggling from the defying air, shaking madly. A cage was tied onto its bark where there were hanged drying clothes inside. The other end, it was tied onto a shabby house. I did not feel the air. The cool blue changed to sepia tone. I took a picture of it. The temperature suddenly changed from being windy to entirely cloudy-foggy that eliminated myself from my own sight. Blankness overtook my stance, my disconnection pulled down further.

I saw a small stray wanderer of a man carrying his bag on his back, striding ahead of me, walking peacefully as if in stern daydreaming. I was not following him, merely his advances were the same as my way to wherever I'm going. He continued to be ahead of me. I ended up walking on the long winding road. It was like a tunnel, almost like an enclosed Great Wall of China; only then it was made of paper, not of bricks. It was extremely foggy and every step that I make, the paper crushes down, creating a hole below, which was too deep I could not even see the bottom. I do not want to fall. The tunnel was cubic in shape, but circular in its direction. I was frightened of the breaking of the pieces of paper whenever I walk, my fear willing. As if I was heavily burdened and the man walked leaving no trace of damage to the tunnel at all, as if flying; an expert. Something about his grace was endearing. He never looked back.

I found myself relieved to have come back to the pub. I believed it was a very dangerous sting of a walk. As I went inside, few people were in and I saw my usual companions whom I did not see during my first visiting. Two of my usual companions started playing virtual chess that moved swiftly as they were eyed. I talked to one of them and laughed seriously aware and telling of how I used to man to progress and survive. I remained indifferent, my emotions unattached. I was saying something I am not aware of nor did I give consent in my mind. I took both their sides as I continued their halted play of chess. By the column before us, another usual companion also joined the discourse, lost in its amusingly sordid form.

I was behind of my unknowing self.