Dazed Days

~In no tragedy other than this his would you find yourself so uncertain of its legitimacy. We understand the suffering of the incompetent as they fail in every which way. We understand the suffering of the envied, as while they are exceptional, they are the exception to affection and betrayed. We know the unlucky, the destined, and every other tear-jerking motive. But a tragedy birthed in impossibility?

That simply sounds like life...

But at the same time Arnold's case is so out of its world; leagues of standard deviations to the point of being an outlier. That is what Arnold is. Arnold is an outlier.

We have the time so perhaps we should consider the observed and their characteristics.

Early morning and heading towards his classes, Arnold currently finds himself sitting down at the back of right row of a train car. His head leaned up against the glass and his face with that similar lethargy. His glasses give a small reflection of the world outside; a few trees, building tops, and passing faces. The pair is thin and sits gently on his nose.

Arnold, though sitting down at the moment, stands probably at 5'11". He currently wears a  black and gray checkered sweater vest over a white dress shirt. A pair of pins decorate his right breast as one seems to be a chibi version of Barbara and the other of her cat Zariel. Nothing else seems too noticeable in his attire pass the nice dress pants and rather clean checkered sneakers.

He seems proper but also plain.

A person like him, you would assume him to do something to distract himself as he takes the train. Pull out his smart phone and listen to a song, maybe watch a video. While it once wasn't as common to do these activities on the move, it is strange to see a youth in this day and age to not participate.

It almost feels like there is no need for him to need a distraction. Despair and our common anxieties seem to make it a calling for us, but their perception here seems quite different. They know that despair, it can be seen in their eyes, but it is like they look down on this life so much that there is no way that they can even see it anymore.

Disconnected, as if self aware of a fantasy. The ending, plot, and characters; hapless narrative constructs as he does not wish to deeply read this tale. Only few moments have revealed that life in him. Those few friendly faces and hers.

Despite his despair though, I witness time and time again, it seems that he has not grown cruel.

While he doesn't seem to be all that focused on his surroundings, halfway through his travels we find him awakened once again. There is not much life in those moments, but it seems that he does try to fake it. An older gentlemen wearing a suit enters the train with a suitcase in hand. He emits a tired gaze. A late night perhaps?

It isn't too hard to see how forced that softness is; a slight twitch can be seen under his left eye. Of course, unless you were looking for it to begin with, you likely never would have noticed it. But all that this older salaryman can see is a youngster offering their seat. They head towards the gestured hand's direction and close their eyes as they wait for their stop.

Arnold finds himself standing for the rest of the ride, but he does finally give change to is passive activities.

No longer being able to just lay and stare out the window, he engages once again in his pleasures. From his side bag that he holds under his arm he pulls out a book with a finely animated cover.

Barbara and the Tower of Winds was the book's title. Even before cracking open the book, he finds himself with a horrid grin. There is a genuine joy to seeing the saddened know joy, but it is in some way shape or form too creepy to just simply appreciate a book. The smile calms down after a few seconds as he regains a certain composure, losing its creepier aftertaste.

Ecstasy would be the first feeling I normally would be able to read from him, but that is only due to the exceptional differences in emotion he feels normally. There is so much of a difference that it just feels off to see him know that joy. But lets let him find more moments of this pleasure before that coming time. Let him enjoy these pleasures while he still can. Let him smile.

Let him feel what he can feel before he must actually look at reality.

His soft eyes glisten for the rest of the ride as reads, absorbing every word and phrase that this tale has to offer. Every moment she exists, and every step she takes can be considered holy to him. She is the embodiment and sole target for his exceptional affection. She is life for him, and therefore the lack of her presence is the same as being dead.

And that time comes soon. While it will only be a moment, his reality will die. A despair like no other will be faced, but if he perseveres, it will simply be the running start for the greatest end. He has not noticed yet, but things have already been led astray. He reads his book and finds the lines confusing for mere seconds. It was almost as if the words were flying off the page once read. If I told him he would notice, but human perception is such an odd thing. 

I hope that you can prove me right human, that this sort of affection and ambition is possible. Prepare for the pit which is the despair, and the heights of the thenafter.