Monday, June 7, 2010


When I first saw Christine, she was sitting at a table crying. It was the day I had arrived at the hospital, for the second time. Being there again as a regular was kinda depressing. She sat their, like a great lump, tears falling down her face and breathing heavily. "Why are you crying?" asked one of the girls. "I hate it here. I want to go home." she replied, solemnly. "It isn't that bad once you get used to it. The first day is always the worst." I said to her, in a phony optimistic tone. She stared up at me through her mess of hair and gave me a quant smile. I smiled back. It was the first real smile in weeks.

A pretty view

Whenever I look up at a building, I try and imagine what it would look like to someone about to jump off. Its very twisted. All the tiny people, surrounded by their bubbles of naive happiness and contentment, all looking forward and walking about. And then there is all the rooftops and clouds in pretty colors and scattered patterns. There is something vaguely romantic about it all, for me at least. Having the power to bend your knees and jump off leaving behind the facade of normality and giving everything up for final contentment. Some people call it a view, and I call it death. Its funny how differently I see everything.