Plato's Apology, Evertt. Q. Blahington [best ebook reader for pc txt] 📗

"Right is right." He said. Slowly and with rhythm, with near purpose and pose, it wrapped and braided. Doubled back and snaked. "To ignore what's been done is to ignore the past. It's wrong. It's not right". It was abrasive and rough. His hands were drenched with sweat and fumbled.

Around him, in this drab apartment, was little. There was a TV, an ancient box-like set left from the early 90's. An old and worn couch, covered with stains from near everything, sat in the corner. It's upholstery tearing and shedding. It's legs un-even and wobbly. Plato hated that couch. Hated it with a passion. To him, it was a mirror, it was a reflection of him and everything he was.

Winding back and forth. Slipping around itself, embracing itself.

Outside, a dog barked and a car alarm went off. The music of the city. A song that even Plato could afford.

"You pushed her away." He murmured. "You asked too much of her. You gave her empty promises and lies." Silently he began to cry. "You've failed. You've at everything." Back and forth, left and right. To and fro, it wound. "You've always been wrong, never right. Well, now's your time to do something. Now's your time to do right."

He raised his head and his face became solemn and accepting. His eyes still teared and watered, protested what he was doing. Windows to the soul, in so many ways they are windows to the soul. With a final breath, he kicked his chair and allowed it to crash to the floor. Splinters and wood flew, it's legs breaking off.

Slowly, his body swayed and rocked. His arms and legs hung limply by his side while his eyes allowed one final tear to roll. The world faded away while, in the distance, was a lone barking dog.

Publication Date: 04-28-2011

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