Mind Full Of Tricks

WASHING MACHINE

  I put my laundry in the washing machine , entering in the last 2 quarters of my paycheck. I couldn't help but think that i was going to be  homeless. I was a  21 year old who had  an unquestionable passion for the despicable  mind of art.

I adored the way the colors slapped against one another , complimenting the tones of the underappreciated stigma of ones' own painting .

Every part of my body was controlled by the movements of the little feathery brush being held in my hands . It spoke for me without having to say anything .  It was my passion, but the passion is only there for so long. Long enough to vanish when it doesn't support you . 

What you want to do sometimes is not what is meant for you . The meaning of  every months' payment is due to the drugged property owner. who is always high on the green faces of worthless ink. I had never met him , but if I did I would ask him for why he wouldn't cut me some slack . 

How am I going to pay this months rent?  I would have to sell all the bones in my body and soul to get the chance to  pack my things.

I sigh slowly.

 My breath was  struggling to make its way out of my slim  windpipe . There wasn't enough air in here anyway , it was disgustingly filled with filth.  I was going to give my self a stroke just thinking about all of the debt that i'm going to be in.

Maybe if i make up a sob story- actually my life is a sob story itself. This should be easy .

i sit on the washing machine, as my ankles rotate back and forth in the blank beat of my exhausted heart. Closing my eyelids i try to form his shape. Probably pig-like , snotty , and poopy. 

okay , okay . I  need to focus:  I begin to recite what i was going to say to the king of this building .

"Your honor-" I begin . Just kidding. Obviously I was going to justify my self in front of him so I might as well.

I chuckle at my own silliness, because really,  I needed to be more professional, " Your majesty.."   I start again.

" Mr.Boss..."

"Mr.Sir..."

Those are way too respectful- 

" Are you here by your self?" A voice boomed behind me. Remember how I said I was going to give myself a stroke?  I think I just did.

My back grew stiff , my bladder threatened to erupt  if I didn't gain my composure soon.  Below me , the machine vibrated against my tailbone which was about to crack from the state of shock I just endured. 

 I open my eyes to a fine looking gentleman , dressed in black jeans and a navy blue jacket. I  liked his style .  But not the smug grin he stuck on his foolish face.

"What's wrong with you?!" I bark.  " you nearly commit murder !"

 Continuing on ,  I say," Do you like jail? Because if something happened to me you would've never seen daylight ever again. I want you to apologize. "

I cross my arms over my lap ,rapidly  breathing in and out the nasty intoxicated oxygen around me.

He steps forward , hands in his pockets. Scanning my skeleton . He slowly places his hands on the machine next to me and plops himself on the washer beside me . Turning his face to  me he notes,  "There is nothing wrong with me".

 His voice was smooth and collected unlike mine. The scent of the strong confidence waved its' way down my arms , giving me goosebumps and chills. His jawline cut through the silence among us.  "Your the one talking to yourself , idiot" he added .