Bored with the world?

You haven’t begun to live

Only vaginally delivered here,

Now penetrate.

"Why?" I ask as I am forced to put on my white uniform for school. Let me explain a little. My name is Ash and I live in a society where everything is plain. Everyone's hair is brown, everyone wears white, and everyone does the same thing. I am different. My hair is blue and I wear color. I was born with colored hair and I should not exist. The government does not anything to do with creativity. Creativity captures the mind and allows for people to stand up to the government. They do not want that to happen, so they eliminated all color and all creativity. People sit at home and watch paint dry. White paint. They all eat salads and drink water. Nothing is different, but me. I go out and explore. I make new foods and dye my clothing. I want more color, I am bored with the world. I will bring back color. About a few hundred miles from my town is an abandoned factory. In there, I make dye. Soon I will take this dye and dump it on this little white town. It takes me a few more weeks to gather all the dye, but I finally have enough. I sneak out while everyone is asleep and dump my colors everywhere. By morning, there is not a speak of white. Trust me the government was not happy, but the people loved it. They started to do more things with creativity and now this little white town is fixed. I am no longer bored with this world.

Summernight heat. Humidity we could float through, wade in, and drown by, if we weren't tethered to one another.

My lifeline was connected to Allison. AllieMac, I called her. She took me to this cypress sea, not far from the borders of the Okefenokee.

Bud Light cans and Marlboro, a full moon and music, AllieMac and a few strangers, and me. We sat, we sang. We played.

Her NotBoyfriend/Boyfriend was our host. He was a musician, a starving artist. No job to speak of, no future plans, he barely scraped together rent with his two band member roommates. It was all they could do to keep the shack above their heads, and the lights on.

There was no air conditioner.

The spring on the screen door would whine and pop, and the door would slam. To call it a "screen door" was generous; screen was a memory in most places within that weathered door frame, hanging in tatters and flapping in the almost-cool breeze of an old box fan.

They had a yellow lab, a big, lazy, friendly geriatric fellow. He'd shuffle right through the tatters of the bottom screen, and plop himself down in front of the drum set.

He was the band's mascot, and a crude likeness of him was painted on the bass drum.

I'd drifted out with AllieMac to this place in her old Buick station wagon. It practically floated over the dirt roads, sailing through the crests and troughs like a battleship, immune to changes in tide and terrain.

We were eighteen, maybe nineteen. She was preparing for full-scholarship adventures at Vanderbilt, where she was planning to major in English or Journalism. She was a poet, a writer, a novelist. She'd already been published before she graduated high school.

So of course we were drawn to one another.

AllieMac wasn't an inch over five feet tall. She ran marathons, she wrote songs, she played guitar. Spritely, fire-haired, fair-skinned and optimistic, she was light and hope and eager to make a difference in the world with love and compassion. Bluegreen eyes as bright as glacial ice under a winter sun, she was determined to succeed in making a change, and she lived by a simple mantra: do good.

So of course we had fundamental differences in drive, ambition, and outlook.

What we shared was a mutual respect for our differences, and our appreciation for lyrical magic and literal finesse.

Physically, I towered over her. It was in a moment, a heartbeat, a flash of seconds, that we recognized a connection between us that could change our latitude and course, potentially steering our bearing of friendship and mere intellectual draw.

It was an innocent thing, really. We were in her kitchen, she was standing at the counter, preparing lunch. She asked me to grab something from a high cabinet, so I reached around her, and she turned towards me, intending to go to the fridge. Facing one another unexpectedly, our eyes locked. I was overboard in crystal blue waters and she reached up to put her hand on my chest.

She traced her hand along my pecs, lightly gliding, gently exploring.

Time simply didn't exist.

The urge to kiss was mutual and powerful and instinctive, and yet.

And yet.

We stood there, eyes as frozen as the secondhand on the old clock radio seemed to be.

We remembered to breathe, we resisted the urge to drown in one another. She took her hand away, and time marched on.

Life's regrets are more strongly bonded to things we didn't do.  I ponder these things undone from yesterdays, when I grow bored with the world's todays.

We boarded her powder-blue Detroit yacht and sailed into the swamp, and we never mentioned that moment frozen in time. That iceberg, that ghost pretending to be a hero.

Instead, we drank beer, smoked cigarettes, and learned to play "Wish You Were Here," or rather, we played at it.

We were just two lost souls, swimming, but I still wish I was there.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3j8mr-gcgoI

I'm so bored with the world.

I'm so bored with the crumbled society with its double standards and endless amounts of political correctness. To be anything less than perfect is to be judged harshly. It's so boring how there's a cycle of pettiness with each new issue that pops up day after day, year after year.

I'm so bored with the way we trash the world we live in. The wasted food. The pollution. Extinction of other animals. And the world's inhabitants ignoring scientist's warning call of global warming and an endangered planet.

I'm so bored with the way this stupid world works in general. The bad people get away with everything. Manipulators. Liars. Abusers. Our justice department is so fucked up as to let rapists and go almost scot free because of money status or race.

I'm so bored with the world because of the endless cycles of hurt and grief that occur in it and the bad always overshadowing the good.

I'm so bored because nothing really changes. The earth spins in a cycle along with the events that happen within.

And it's boring.

"I know you all envy me but believe it or not, it's not easy to be the child of the Big Boss. There's all these expectations. I'm educated to know all these things and to act all benevolent and still be majestic and shit. But has anyone ever asked me what I want? No!"

Lucifer was emphasizing her speech with her hands, almost knocking a sandwich out of Gabriel's hand.

"Hey, watch it girl!" Gabriel said moving the sandwich further away from her dangerously flailing hands. "Besides, you're not the only one whose life has been dictated for them. I'm supposed to be some kind of head honcho of messengers, but I don't even know who I'm supposed to deliver the messages to. It's not like those stupid cockroaches in that world your Father created are going to listen much of advice."

Lucifer rolled her eyes. "I'm so bored with that world! I mean, it's been over three billion years since my Dad created life there, and every day I've had to go with him to see the fucking bacteria floating around. Couldn't he have invented something more interesting?"

"Haven't you heard?" Michael chimed in.

"Heard what?" Lucifer and Gabriel asked simultaneously.

"Of the latest plans. Humans! They're supposed to be these really smart beings, so smart that the Father is planning on giving them a free will!"

"What, animals that decide for themselves? Has the old geezer completely lost it?" Gabriel laughed. Lucifer wasn't laughing, but after a while a small smile started to creep to her lips.

Michael looked at her warily. "Lucifer, what are you thinking? You don't have a new idea, do you?"

"Ooh, I have the perfect idea", Lucifer answered. "We'll be making the world less boring. If this works, we'll have fun for eons to come."

Another voice joined the discussion. "What idea? Little sister, you're not going to get into trouble again, are you?"

Lucifer looked up to the young man who oozed charisma and leadership.

"Jesus, stay out of this," Lucifer said grumpily.

Michael nudged Gabriel and they sneaked away. They had seen enough of these fights and heard enough Lucifer's great ideas that they knew to stay away.

"Come on, sis, I don't want to clean up your messes again. There was enough work to do with what you did with the dinosaurs, and let's not forget who talked Dad into believing all those stories about a giant meteor. Next time I just might not be there to save your ass."

"Don't worry, I don't want you to save me or anyone else. You don't always have to play the hero."

Jesus threw his hands into air and sighed.

"I can't be your guardian all the time. Just don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"Oh, this isn't stupid. This is brilliant," Lucifer muttered under her breath as she watched her brother striding away.

I'm so bored with the world. It wasn't always this way. I remember days that I would get out of bed because I knew lying there was a waste. I'd run out and discover something new. I'd go downtown and have breakfast, stop and see people I knew, afterward head to midtown.

I could spend hours there in midtown because my best friend Camille lived there. A wonderful artist, always experimenting with new elements. If anyone pushed the envelope it was Camille. We would go to the museum where we would spend hours. I loved listening to her talk about the French Impressionists, who she loved but would never emulate. Camille's style took art four steps past modernism.

After the museum, we would go to our favorite boutique market and buy just the right amount of food for a picnic. We did this every week, twice a week. My day always ended at the beach where I would walk along the shore and think about how great life was. That was until that afternoon three years ago. When THEY came. The world has never been the same.

We didn't see them coming, hell we don't even know how they got here. Ever since then I stand at this same window with a gun that I took off a dead defender. I don't sleep much, some nights not at all. I wait, but I don't know why. Maybe just to stay alive. Camille is gone, I think. There are no phones, no way to communicate. THEY control everything. 

All I know is this is not the same world I remember. I'm so bored with the world.