You are lost

Can you hear me? I’m over here. Shh. Just keep shuffling along like you’ve got no purpose. It’s the easiest way to blend in with them. Them? Mannequins. Soul-less things with human form. They’re everywhere these days.

In my memory they’ve always been numerous, but it seems that they were easier to spot before. They’ve become more lifelike recently. Some echo words I’ve heard before; some bumper-sticker sentiment aimed to coax this apathetic demographic target to their siren’s call. It doesn’t matter if the message is familiar or unique, the source is still only an echo, one of many replications that roam around in warm flesh.

And I thank your father’s semen for this cheap excessive life, because if it weren’t for all of these decoys, these walking commercials with billboards on their backs, these gaping mouths that indiscriminately devour every resource at their disposal, this commodity of purposeless drones diluting the value of the human experience, if it weren’t for them I’d be an easier target.

As I’ve drifted through the labyrinth of human shapes I’ve met some other originals, like you. Some were hiding, some were fighting, and some were broken or dead. Some couldn’t fit the mannequin’s mold and destroyed themselves trying. Others were sacrificed to build it, and now wander the parking lots they watched their brothers die for; looking for a little sympathy, some spare change and a way to escape it, even if it’s drug induced and temporary.

Fortunately the mannequins seem destined for self destruction; an internal death wish to fulfill prophetic visions they’ve never understood. Through meaningless life they wish for ultimate death; something divine and definite, to be the conclusion if nothing more.

Another cigarette butt in an overflowing ashtray.