Writting In Reverse

Inspired by: "Bill Sullivan’s Turnstile Photography Project"

Running all the time, but he isn’t going anywhere. It's a new page in the same book. It's a new game with the same rules. Slowly dissipating into the oblivion. Lost in his thoughts as he stumbles to regain his balance. Life-or something like it? “There’s got to be more to this life”, he exclaimed in a flashy manor; as if to impress everyone. Words get in the way, sentences strung along with muddled up hope. All the hope spills from deep inside of his stomach. This world equals oblivion. You can’t remember everything, he won’t. I am the narrator of his life, because I know him best. Technically it’s my world; he’s just living in it.

Lets call him Jack, because Jack seems like an ordinary name, that any other ordinary person could have. Despite his name, Jack Collins was an unconventional person. In kindergarten his teachers gave him an assignment- they told him to write down what he wanted to be when he grew up. He wrote down happy. They told him that he didn't understand the assignment; he told them they didn't understand life. He’s that one kid in elementary school that you guys all picked on; that one guy in middle school that you spread rumors about; just wanting a good laugh. In high school he was the outcast.

When most kids were getting their drivers license, going to parties, and smoking their cigarettes; Jack had different priorities. Jacks not to proud with parts of his life. Like that one time when he got addicted to Speed, those were the days he was desperate to escape reality.

Jack Collins-he was never to good in school, definitely not getting a scholarship to an Ivy League college; he’ll probably get into some community college at best. He noticed this a bit to soon, and he had no need for boosting his performance. He lost interest with school-completely. He wanted the days to fly by.

The first time he smoked weed was in tenth grade. This is when he heard Nirvana for the first time. Soon enough he found a better band, one that better described him, Tool, and a better drug too- Speed. Weed, soon enough his body had grown a tolerance for that. Off course he believes that he can stop whenever he wants. Not so much denial, but deceit towards other people, whom he hates the mire thought of sharing a species with. He felt no use to live another day sober.

In a regular biography, this is probably the part where all the problems start, but in his mind this is when all his problems end.

To make a long story short Jack Collins never went to rehab. The life he led drowned him with vein. He was the kid that you always made fun of. You know, that one loser in your second period always showing up late. You remember-the one loser who never was going to amount to anything. All those comments made up a life unlived.As he was getting off the train on that late Saturday night, he took a last look around. He admired the meaninglessness that has taken vacancy in everything he looks at. He won’t be around for much longer. Nothing sustains his life- his passion for everything’s dead. He doesn’t care. He really, never did. He wanted happiness, he got distress.