LogFAQs > #928011608

Timothy viewed his fellow classmates, co workers at his local fast food restaurant, and his unborn brother as nothing more than opportunities. Opportunities for him to flesh out his deepest fears, and then reconcile them with mental pain that would crush even the greatest man.

This situation though, this one was different.

A sunny day, one filled with chirping birds, ecstatic children, a calm breeze and a surreal setting always made Timothy feel at home. It was relaxing, relieving. Timothy always felt like it was Gods way of letting know the world know that everything was going to be ok.

He made his way to school, and breezed through his classes, either by skipping them entirely or doing the bare minimum of work to guarantee himself a passing grade. Tim had never necessarily considered himself an academic character, rather, he had to utilize what intelligence he had to survive. He held this mentality all throughout his life, but it especially arose when traveling through the darkest realms of his deepest fears.

After a rather strenuous day at school (dodging cracks in the sidewalk, not looking at a woman for longer than 3.2 seconds, or having thoughts of contamination from the slice of bread in the school lunchroom) Tim had made his way back home. Birds still chirping. Wind still blowing. How peaceful he thought as he made his way home through the empty alleyway behind thirty second street.

He placed his right foot up, then his left foot, then his right foot, then his right foot again, onto the ledge entering into the house. A standard ritual. As he went to place his slightly garnished left hand on the doorknob, he realized he had made a great mistake.

Pulsations. Increased heart rate. Sweating. Tightness in the chest. A high level radioactive assault had just commenced on Timothys entire psyche-both physically and mentally. The loud crashing of thunder was heard above him, or was it inside him? A pounding exertia of violence was happening in this very split second- Blood, gore, trauma, screams, tears. The inertia was paralyzing.

Timothy dropped to the ground.

His black backpack was thrown across the crisply cut grass.

His hands went straight to his face.

Tim had forgot to put his left foot on the ledge twice. It was so routine, how could he forget? How could he make such a juvenile mistake? An entire day of perfected routines, almost artistic in the fact of how they were executed on such a precise level.
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PSN: NihilismKills