This post is literally the last post I have until my reviews of E3, a top ten list of games of 2016, and a September books review. Around/about September, sometimes earlier depending on the length of the novel, I write a book review, of a "newer" novel,mbecsue I don't get out to get a new book that is actually interesting enough to post about. I love books, but lately I feel there's a lot coming up thwt I need to write. Nothing wrong with that, I love writing, but it's going to be a lot.
I guess I'm not going to do a conventional short story post this week....because I'm posting my 300th post this week, and it is a story, not a short one, but one of this whole editorial. It'll give insight, but more-importantly, I will have everything completed. I guess less is more, and I'll leave if all be for this week. Post 299 and of course, Post 300 will be up later on this week, or very, very early next week. But because I'm still obligating myself NOT to quit, and with a wrestling conflict to do-som I'll present to you a very short story, but a story nonetheless. Here is:
Hippie Conundrum
I walked a thousand miles one day, and it lasted for seventeen years. I was allowed to face facts wit placebo dreams of max caliber pills, enough to choke a horse, and medicate a megaladon. I walked, grossing through some robotussin-filled mindscape, infiltrating the very deepest regions of my past, present, and dying for a flatbread sandwich evenings that kept me up until the apocalypse rose over the horizon. A bountiful feast of marjoram butters and pekoe teas to keep me alive long enough to we that true life is through the mouth, and life's greatest lessons are on the sides of the tongue.
The forestry nights were cool in summer, where the mosquitoes themselves had to give you a break from their puncturing beaks. The world was abundant with life, some of which barely noticed us, as we barely acknowledged them. It was a passion of ignorance that binds us all. When all else failed me, I took to the world, a young man with a dream, a goal of living for nothing, only living. Survival and medication, drugs, and wild berries, it kept me same, it kept me whole. The plant grew abundantly in the forest, and grinding it up for my pipe was all I needed to stay straight.
I walked, and walked for days, my feet were covered with slaps of heavy leaves that grew from the aloe found naturally in the forest. I wasn't without my passion though, but death was enticing, life was holding less and less of the corporate oppression I once found myself wrapped up in with family and friends expecting me to take on my father's business. He sent me to college, full tutuition, and expected me to learn precisely how he had, but he never saw me as anything but a carbon copy of himself, trying to live out his best years ago in,while ruining mine.
So I disowned him, walking away from millions, living with a small band of free-thinking intellectuals that have survived off the land for years. I shacked up with Butterfly, who became my wife through a pagan ceremony done on the rocks of Yawp. My father disowned me when news made it back, via social media. We led the commune in peace, myself and wife Buffterfly. We led a life of joy and happiness, living off of lancets we've made from hair and recycled plastic.
Was it wrong for me to walk away from a cushy life of corporate power, maniacal greed, and a house? It was the best damn decision of my life, and with my wife Butterfly, our sons Two-Tone, and Blue Grass, and we lived hippily ever after.
Thank you for reading the Malacast Editorial, and I'll be returning next week with E3 posts, and I may. It do a short story post, but I will try, but seeing that it is E3, I may just have to sit on it, and come back in two weeks with another SSWkly Post.
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