Have You Ever Tasted Sand
Degenerate Aficionado
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Ian stared at the clock on the wall of his room. His first day had gone off without a hitch. Other than the occasional polite greeting, nobody seemed to pay any attention to his presence. After paying half attention to whatever was happening around him, he finally was able to return home. Unlike the other first year students, Ian was not staying in a dorm. His apartment was close enough to the school that it was unnecessary. Besides, if he lived in a dorm, who would take care of Gatsby?
Almost on cue, a small black cat with emerald green eyes leapt from the floor and onto Ian's lap. With a soft purr, it laid down its head and closed its eyes.
Ian's apartment was humble, to say the least. While there wasn't much in terms of entertainment, it was certainly clean. A single, worn couch sat in the middle of a brick-layered room. There was a rolling table with a laptop on it; a purchase from last year. While it wasn't a top performing machine, it worked well and was even able to handle a few games. Internet connectivity came with the building. He opened the lid and typed away for a few moments before pulling up a free movie about detectives. Reaching on the floor beside the couch was a neatly folded bag of chips. Placing one on his tongue, he crunched away as time marched ever foreword.
The apartment contained a simple kitchen set, which was also well-cleaned. There was a bathroom to the left of the main entrance, a dresser, and a map of the city pinned to the wall. Tenants close to Ian have mentioned hearing beautiful piano music, but he always claims to have no idea where it comes from. Little do they know that hidden in the storage closet is a keyboard and stand neatly folded up and hidden behind hanging clothing.
After plugging his phone into his laptop to charge, he grabbed a blanket from the floor and draped it on top of himself. There was no traditional bed in the apartment; he never saw a need for one. With a sigh, he stretched himself across the couch and closed his eyes. There wasn't much point in staying up late, it isn't like anyone would come looking for him.
A weak sense of dread caused him to tense up. Was this truly all there was to life? Work, eat, sleep, repeat? It scared him. Try as he might, all he could see in his own future was a loop, repeating ever onward until it all faded into black. Much like a clock's hand ticking endlessly in a loop, repetition had sunk its fowl claws into Ian's flesh, holding him in the same circle of events as time progressed around him. With a bit of struggle, he began to force himself to fall asleep. Perhaps he would feel better in the morning.
Ian stared at the clock on the wall of his room. His first day had gone off without a hitch. Other than the occasional polite greeting, nobody seemed to pay any attention to his presence. After paying half attention to whatever was happening around him, he finally was able to return home. Unlike the other first year students, Ian was not staying in a dorm. His apartment was close enough to the school that it was unnecessary. Besides, if he lived in a dorm, who would take care of Gatsby?
Almost on cue, a small black cat with emerald green eyes leapt from the floor and onto Ian's lap. With a soft purr, it laid down its head and closed its eyes.
Ian's apartment was humble, to say the least. While there wasn't much in terms of entertainment, it was certainly clean. A single, worn couch sat in the middle of a brick-layered room. There was a rolling table with a laptop on it; a purchase from last year. While it wasn't a top performing machine, it worked well and was even able to handle a few games. Internet connectivity came with the building. He opened the lid and typed away for a few moments before pulling up a free movie about detectives. Reaching on the floor beside the couch was a neatly folded bag of chips. Placing one on his tongue, he crunched away as time marched ever foreword.
The apartment contained a simple kitchen set, which was also well-cleaned. There was a bathroom to the left of the main entrance, a dresser, and a map of the city pinned to the wall. Tenants close to Ian have mentioned hearing beautiful piano music, but he always claims to have no idea where it comes from. Little do they know that hidden in the storage closet is a keyboard and stand neatly folded up and hidden behind hanging clothing.
After plugging his phone into his laptop to charge, he grabbed a blanket from the floor and draped it on top of himself. There was no traditional bed in the apartment; he never saw a need for one. With a sigh, he stretched himself across the couch and closed his eyes. There wasn't much point in staying up late, it isn't like anyone would come looking for him.
A weak sense of dread caused him to tense up. Was this truly all there was to life? Work, eat, sleep, repeat? It scared him. Try as he might, all he could see in his own future was a loop, repeating ever onward until it all faded into black. Much like a clock's hand ticking endlessly in a loop, repetition had sunk its fowl claws into Ian's flesh, holding him in the same circle of events as time progressed around him. With a bit of struggle, he began to force himself to fall asleep. Perhaps he would feel better in the morning.