I just began writing and I continued it. Read the entire thing for the full effect.
There is a man. The man. This is the man.
There is nothing that the man can do worthily.
The man is at a table at the edge of a cliff.
And this is a man.
This man. This man is sitting at the edge of a cliff.
No company. No visitors. A man. Sitting at the edge of the cliff, at a table, drinking tea.
The man isn't doing anything.
He won't do anything. Why would he?
The man. This man. The one man who's been forgotten.
The man who's sitting at the edge of a cliff, at a table, drinking tea, with an empty seat at the other end of his table.
The man who's staring at the empty seat with wide eyes, as if he's listening to a person in the seat.
The cliff is steep, but he seems to not notice. He's intensely listening to what the person in the empty seat is telling him.
This man. With no visitors, at the edge of a cliff, at a table, drinking tea, with an empty seat and a chaotic persona.
This man is crazy. He must be. He's a lunatic. He's listening to nobody.
But, we don't know if he's listening to anything or not. We just assumed he was.
This man who we've never visited, considering that he has no visitors, was just judged by us.
This man. The man. The lonely man who drinks tea on the cliff.
He must be crazy. He's staring at an empty seat. He's listening to it. The seat isn't talking. There's nobody in it.
The cliff is steep.
He must be crazy.
The man on a cliff, with no visitors at a table, drinking tea, staring at his empty chair, crazily listening to his nonexistent company, holding his teddy bear.
The man will probably fall off.
I'm watching him now.
He did fall off.
The man fell off the cliff.
I'm not going to do anything about it.
His teddy bear is still sitting there.
The teddy bear, on a cliff, with no visitors, at a table, staring at a chair with a person in it.
The man on a cliff, with one visitor at a table, drinking tea, staring at his empty chair, crazily listening to his teddy bear.
The man is here. The man isn't gone. The man is here. The man is here.
How can I see the man on a cliff with one visitor at a table drinking tea staring at his none existent company?
From the ground I could not see the top of a steep cliff.
I'm on a cliff myself.
And it's getting tiring. I've been here for at least a day. In fact I'm sitting.
And I'm staying hydrated by drinking tea.
I'm kept company by my teddy bear.
Hopefully more company will arrive. The plush bear doesn't talk much, although I stare at him with wide eyes waiting for him to speak.
I have another chair in case another guest arrives.
But then the man. The man. Is the man me?
I look over to the side. Surely I'm looking in a mirror.
I reach my hand out over the cliff, but to no avail.
The man on the other side doesn't move in the same direction.
I lose my balance and I myself fall over the edge.
Falling. I'm falling. I'm falling to my inevitable death.
And it happens. I'm dead.
And the teddy bear is sitting by, staring at his nonexistent company.
He must be crazy. He's a lunatic. I'm staring at him from my table, as if my death never happened.
The man. The man is still here. The man is still there, listening to his teddy bear.
The man of the future and the man of my chaotic delusions.
Surely this is all an illusion. He's simply staring at his empty chair.
As he is drinking his tea, I notice that he is facing in my direction, looking at my eyes to stare.
Maybe I'm the lunatic.
This Man
By Tate
By Tate
There is a man. The man. This is the man.
There is nothing that the man can do worthily.
The man is at a table at the edge of a cliff.
And this is a man.
This man. This man is sitting at the edge of a cliff.
No company. No visitors. A man. Sitting at the edge of the cliff, at a table, drinking tea.
The man isn't doing anything.
He won't do anything. Why would he?
The man. This man. The one man who's been forgotten.
The man who's sitting at the edge of a cliff, at a table, drinking tea, with an empty seat at the other end of his table.
The man who's staring at the empty seat with wide eyes, as if he's listening to a person in the seat.
The cliff is steep, but he seems to not notice. He's intensely listening to what the person in the empty seat is telling him.
This man. With no visitors, at the edge of a cliff, at a table, drinking tea, with an empty seat and a chaotic persona.
This man is crazy. He must be. He's a lunatic. He's listening to nobody.
But, we don't know if he's listening to anything or not. We just assumed he was.
This man who we've never visited, considering that he has no visitors, was just judged by us.
This man. The man. The lonely man who drinks tea on the cliff.
He must be crazy. He's staring at an empty seat. He's listening to it. The seat isn't talking. There's nobody in it.
The cliff is steep.
He must be crazy.
The man on a cliff, with no visitors at a table, drinking tea, staring at his empty chair, crazily listening to his nonexistent company, holding his teddy bear.
The man will probably fall off.
I'm watching him now.
He did fall off.
The man fell off the cliff.
I'm not going to do anything about it.
His teddy bear is still sitting there.
The teddy bear, on a cliff, with no visitors, at a table, staring at a chair with a person in it.
The man on a cliff, with one visitor at a table, drinking tea, staring at his empty chair, crazily listening to his teddy bear.
The man is here. The man isn't gone. The man is here. The man is here.
How can I see the man on a cliff with one visitor at a table drinking tea staring at his none existent company?
From the ground I could not see the top of a steep cliff.
I'm on a cliff myself.
And it's getting tiring. I've been here for at least a day. In fact I'm sitting.
And I'm staying hydrated by drinking tea.
I'm kept company by my teddy bear.
Hopefully more company will arrive. The plush bear doesn't talk much, although I stare at him with wide eyes waiting for him to speak.
I have another chair in case another guest arrives.
But then the man. The man. Is the man me?
I look over to the side. Surely I'm looking in a mirror.
I reach my hand out over the cliff, but to no avail.
The man on the other side doesn't move in the same direction.
I lose my balance and I myself fall over the edge.
Falling. I'm falling. I'm falling to my inevitable death.
And it happens. I'm dead.
And the teddy bear is sitting by, staring at his nonexistent company.
He must be crazy. He's a lunatic. I'm staring at him from my table, as if my death never happened.
The man. The man is still here. The man is still there, listening to his teddy bear.
The man of the future and the man of my chaotic delusions.
Surely this is all an illusion. He's simply staring at his empty chair.
As he is drinking his tea, I notice that he is facing in my direction, looking at my eyes to stare.
Maybe I'm the lunatic.
