NEW FICTION:

He sat and he stared, he sat and he stared at - nothing. He was on the end of his bed, he was in a straight-backed chair, he was in an XXXL t-shirt and dirty underwear, he was in red skin-tight jeans and sequins, he was in big boots and army coat with no buttons. He felt like he was an event to happen, like he was stood on a sky-high diving board with all the choirs of angels - waiting in expectation of a fall. He felt like an event to happen, like he was full of rainbows - but they were all variations of grey, like he was a sad song - or maybe just part of the chorus, like he was a film in the making - or just the rolling credits already, like he was that photograph that everyone knew - but nobody really got anymore. He sat and he stared, he sat and he stared and - it didn't make any sense, just didn't make any sense anymore. He was like an event to happen - so he sat, stared, and waited.