Imperatives of celerity

After all that was said and done, nothing seemed to stall. The duo rushed to the structure cradling only affable expectations. One of them, carrying only his trusted weapon of choice, of captured memories and biased stillness, while the other carries a light bag of tricks, of secrets only the two of them know, for they trust each other enough to share each other’s sins and tragedies beneath the awful scent of mischief and prescribed suppositories. They run as fast as they could, even though the path they were running at was without reassurance of correctness. The trouble of losing his cellular gadget was stirring his guilt for his apparent carelessness. It was his fault all along, dragging his merry man with him to ease the headfirst crash without any restraint or support. His friend was not at all stupid either, he was well aware of the situation but left with little choice than to choose despair, but even so failing to argue his guilt by association. His rushed temperament was hardly infinitesimal, but the suppression for every oppressive gesture was never even once forgotten. He was pudgy in both stature and character, but his spirit was enormously gargantuan. At times even the companion questions his quality comparing and contrasting the both of them, and for every action it was all the more increasingly tense, because the greatest threat one could face was one who imbibed a part of the other into his own, and taking it one step farther for what it is and what it is not.

So it was with the imperatives of celerity that they struggled against. Not minding the faults they leapt forward still with rapturous thoughts. It was customary for the situation as it was mirroring the harbored energy of flight. Both of them rush to the loo with the will to dominate but the confidence of a mouse. There at first existed the urge to urinate but faded as soon as the urge to jump in with the sharks finally murmured and chimed into his thoughts. He pulled napkin from one stall without caring about the roll that came with it, wiped his face and fixed his form, while the other calmed his inner thoughts with an unexpected penile erection which he kept in secret all throughout the night. The graceful theme of formality was getting into both of them, which was rare in part of their situation, that when told at first be met with ridicule and piercing laughter, but alas there they were now, ready and willing to be provoked and be taken advantage of.

The first step is always the easiest one to take, only because anything was hardly familiar, and that with each step one grows accustomed to adaptation.  The blissful ignorance will then be slowly ignited taking the form of a generic trickster, and if given the chance will evolve into something vile and nasty. What was the point of it all if not for the overall consensus of notoriety? For each step partaken wisdom slowly overbears the emotion, the regret of past transgressions kept quiet up until the moment of demise, and when part of what was shown is accentuated as being malignant to the point of woebegone idealisms, nothing will clear the pathway for the trickster, only the cuirassier will be left in regard, and it is he who will be rightfully reclaimed as a healer to the chronic disease of the play, and the cuirassier would reflect the one who stepped last. In this case it was the outsider, his companion, the pudge.

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