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by Mike Woodcox COTTRILL about a month ago in coping
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By: Xo

the story was written based on this image.

A cold winter night, and not the kind with snow falling and loud winds. The kind that’s quiet; trees bustling in the soft wind, lights off in every apartment, street lights on at full blast, the road empty and icy and a sky so dark that even gas station lights could be mistaken for the sun. And if I’m being honest… It’s just the kind of night for a late night cruise down the road to the elevating sound of driving music. I kind of like nights like this; alone with nobody to judge, nothing but me, my car and an empty road. The more I drive the more time I have to take in my surroundings. Most people enjoy bustling streets of people, a clear sign of civilization; but I tend to enjoy more apocalyptic and abandoned scenes, not the kind with run down buildings but the kind that had just recently been abandoned. I love the look of a well kept building with no sign of life inside, everything untouched, just silence. I love the look of a street with no movement. A dark mildly lit road that just goes on for miles. Lights that shine a dim yellow showing almost orange when I speed past. These scenes make me enjoy working overnight shifts almost as much as the feeling of making it home. Parking the car In the large car garage of my apartment building, and the feeling of walking through the almost eerie brightly lit parking lot all the way to the front desk of the building. The familiar smell of the building, and the routine of walking at just the right pace with just the right steps making it all the way to the elevator. A constant comfort hearing the sound of the elevator ding, and walking out through the quiet hallway to my apartment. Sometimes I can hear the echo of a late night TV show, and the occasional sound of lovers taking advantage of the late night hours they’re together. It’s a bit of a throw off from my usual routine, but definitely not a hindrance to the ritual of walking down the hallway to the one place I have to myself. Walking through the doors to the familiar sight of a modern minimally decorated apartment usually brings me relief, but it feels different this time; I’m not sure if it was the tv or the couple that threw me off on my way, but it just doesn't feel as comforting as before. It's almost… lonely… no… uncomfortable? No, that's not the right word… FUCK! What's the fucking problem. I don't get it… I’ll try my usual routine. Walking past my kitchen, through the living room and finally down the hallway to my bedroom. No matter what I do it feels wrong… cleaning, bathing, changing, it all feels wrong. Why? I cleaned, I took my usual relaxing bath and I changed into comfortable clothes… Maybe, I forgot to do my usual facial routine… I never realized I looked this way. So blank… a cold but blank expression. It’s almost robotic the way my face shifts, the way I blink, the way my face rests. It confuses me how someone could stare back at me this way. I wouldn't sound honest if I didn't say that it was odd; the fact that I don't even recognize my face should be enough of a red flag on it's own. It's scary that I can even say that this is Me, that this is the face of someone that could be called a person. And it really scares me… the emptiness I see in my eyes...


About the author

Mike Woodcox COTTRILL

I can really say my life wasn’t easy BUT IT WAS FUN

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