(Left)CH1

Its 6:55am in late January. While driving a bit fast, Left pulls up to the gas station. He hops out of the car, and to his surprise, a cop car pulls in after him with his blue lights flashing and sirens blaring. "Left, come here."


As he walks toward the police car, you can immediately tell that his 6'2, 26 year old body has seen hard work. He walks as if there is pain associated with every step. His jeans have paint marks on them, and his flannel jacket that warms him is faded from over exposure to rain and sunny light. His facial expression, at first glance, seems a bit on the aggravated, angry side but that slowly disappears as he gets closer to the police car.


The cop is one of Left's friends from back in high school. He proceeds to tell Left that he needs to slow down because next time he is going to have to write him a ticket. Left agrees that he will slow down but he just says this so the cop would just leave.


Left turns around and starts to walk back toward the gas station, with his keys in hand. He unlocks the old, worn out door and opens the store just like any other day. He turns on the lights and  open sign, then he makes sure the register is working properly. All of this takes maybe five minutes,and since he is picking up extra hours because the owner is out of town, he now gets to stand behind the red counter for the rest of the day.


His job can sometimes be uneventful  but the great aspect of working at a gas station is that you never know when,or better yet, who, will come in through the door..

(LeftRight)

Intro-Why did the phone cut off? She’s playing with me. Nothing is wrong. I’ll just call her back. As he frantically pushed the numbered buttons on his phone, Left was trying to figure out what the sound could have been at the end of the call. In his mind, he knows what it was, but he refuses to accept it.  He hits the green send button and as he waits for the call to be connected, his nerves and fear start to take over as he begins to tap his fingers on the steering wheel. Her phone picks up, but it is her Voicemail. As he runs a stop sign, he throws the cell phone into the driver seat. The only thing that is going, over and over, through his head is the simple yet devastating, last word he heard while the phone was to his ear. Unavailable.

Legacy of Silence

Will we ever escape the formalities of reality? Or better yet, will we ever enter the informal transition to fantasy? Creativity. Can we always live life with utmost curiosity? Can life truly ever become unstimulating, uninspiring? In a sense, we all are innocent of innocence. Why feel guilty, because if innocence we're clean then why would you want to feel filthy? Sure, it would be easy to Give up; not why, but why not go for the Take down? Why not go for the things in life that you feel are most important, yesterday. Love, Enlightenment, Money. Finding what is honestly real in life and leaving fakeness on the side of the road screaming for you to take her back. Instead, you hit the gas, pass the ones that are in the way of your dreams, grasp the happiness that you constantly purse, whatever that may be, then maybe you wont have to tell yourself that satisfaction is long overdue.