A/N hey, I know I got tons of chapters to write for other fics. I just wanted to try this out as an experiment you know. Please tell me what you think. Thanks.
I once read somewhere that there are two different types of people in the world, those who want to know, and those who want to believe. Back in college I never got it, I scratched my head and waited for a student brave enough to ask what it meant. No one did. They all assumed what it meant and continued listening to the professor go on about Nietzsche and his many great words of wisdom. Don't remember much from that semester, other than that it was the semester I decided I wanted to create music rather than become a teacher. Oh, and that God is dead. Nietzsche would have been tons o' fun at parties.
To believe. To believe, to believe The words swim in my head colliding with every thought that reside in the small cavity known as my mind. Nope. Still don't get it.
Its at the point past rock bottom when Nietzsche begins to give you few words of encouragement for your stupid existence, or at least a cryptic message from the grave. But who has time to figure out what a dead German philosopher is trying to say when he fits his sentences together like a madman, no wonder I got a B in that class.
Now I sit on the this dirty pavement contemplating where my life went south in just three days. It smells like rain, so my rest is going to be quick .
" 'ey! Move it bum!" A man yells at me after he trips over my legs. Now I can understand the yelling If I purposely threw my legs out like I own the ground where I sit, but that's not the case, I was just resting, and the jerk steps on me. I bet looking at his cellular device is more important than innocent people sitting on the ground.
"I ain't a bum, oaf" I sternly say back up to him.
"Look here. You have been sitting in front of my stop for three days, wearing the same clothes nonetheless, if you aren't homeless, then what the fuck are ya? No wait, I don't care, get out of here" He shakes his head and walks pass me to enter his smoke shop.
"GOD IS DEAD! AND WE KILLED HIM!" I yell. I yell with all the air inside my lungs. Making sure anyone walking by can hear my tirade. I target the mothers with children, those are the ones that go and complain to their friends to steer clear of places with madmen.
" Oi! What the hell?" The oaf returns, but I have yet to finish my speech.
"HOW SHALL WE COMFORT OURSELVES!?" I am putting on a show now. Getting into a role of a town madman. I am on my feet pointing at passer-bys, even at the shop owner as I yell. A few children cry, believing the words I say, mothers glare, and men tell me to shut my trap or to go to Hell.
"WHAT WAS HOLIEST AND MIGHTIEST OF ALL THAT THE WORLD HAS YET OWNED HAS BLED TO DEATH UNDER OUR KNIVES: WHO WILL WIPE THIS BLOOD OFF US" my hands clench the air as I yell at the heavens. I fall to my knees and cry.
"You are sick" A woman spits at me. She grabs her son by his hand and hurries off with him.
I am sick, she has no fucking idea how sick I am, and I am just getting sicker. I bring it up a notch. I cackle, not like a witch, no this is a full black and white film Satan cackle. My words are deeper and slowly strung together as I perform. There is a large crowd watching me, the shop keeper trying to calm outraged viewers and to save his innocence along with the children's. A few college kids, who know what I am quoting and giggling and recording me with their cellphones. As I near the end I feel so alive, I could explode.
"MUST WE OURSELVES NOT BECOME GODS SIMPLY TO APPEAR WORTHY OF IT?"
And with this I bow. And applause erupts from the small group of college students, which grows as soon as people learn that all this is, was a performance. I smile at the crowd, as a pick up my traveling companion, and old beaten up guitar, and head down the road to the nearest alley for protection from the rain. I check my pockets for cellphone,one that has been dead for three days and is still dead now, and my wallet. I am running out of money so I will have to sleep outside again. No big deal. I have a thick enough coat, So I probably wont die tonight. I have almost made it around the corner when some taps me on the shoulder. Probably that fuck head of a shop keeper trying to give me hell.
"Look dickwad. All I was-" It wasn't him. Just a tall skinny guy, with wavy black hair and the bluest eyes I have ever seen.
"That was quite a show you put on there. What do they call you?" He smiles. Its a crooked smile the one that schemers have in the old detective cartoons had, one that says I am handsome so trust me, but I will stab you in the back first chance I get. I straighten my back and puff out my chest, to try and intimidate him, what I lack in height, I make up in brawn. I could take this guy down in twelve seconds flat, I swear.
"They call me, Miguel."