Module III.

/*The unit uses its hydraulic joints to raise itself from its bed and an internal stimuli disrupts its CPU. Initially, the disruption is minimal. The unit turns its personal computer ON and waits for it to load. Suddenly, a problem occurs. The telecommunications tower cuts the transmission between SAIKOW_08 and enables transmission with Camera_01, hidden in the unit’s garbage bin.*/

Encountered an internal error: the CPU is low on dopamine…

Losing contact with SAIKOW_08…

*the screen is distorted by lines and a screeching comes out of the speakers for five minutes*

Disconnected…

Enabling Camera_01…

Receiving external visual feed…

*darkness blurs from the scene and this image is taking form*

He was just squeezing the last drop of his come out of his limp penis. The pearly bead flowed out of the hole, and dripped on the side of the head. He wiped it off with the dry part of the tissue paper, used to catch most of his ejaculation. He folded the tissue papers in the neatest manner, as any other obsessive compulsive would. He set the papers aside, stood up, and paused the hentai flick he used to fuel his desire. He put on his underwear and returned the container of petroleum jelly in its secret hiding place, beneath t-shirts and other garments. He picked up the folded tissues and approached the garbage bin.

The first thing he saw inside the garbage bin were empty wrappers of Snow Bear and other brands of candies; and below them, empty Marlboro 20’s packs. Ever since that night with her in the town square, his candy consumption increased. He found no other form of addiction to drown his need to feel something caress his throat. But, powerful menthol candies are poor substitues for the sticks that remain untouched in that last pack he left in the bench. He needed something more to occupy his mind and empty time. Hence, he turned to masturbation. Self-abuse to uphold a promise.

He lifted the side of the large, brown envelope in the corner of the bin. It revealed a mound of used tissue papers with yellow marks on their sides. He placed the recently folded tissue beside them. And just as he returned the envelope to its proper position, he saw pencil shavings at the bottom of the bin, beneath the sperm cemetery.

He couldn’t quite remember exactly when he last used a pencil. But, he could still remember last thing he drew with it, her eyes. It was the night before he gave his first letter to her. He had been deeply infatuated for months and that night, he decided that he wanted to be recognized by her. This memory made him smile for a moment.

He let go of the tip of the brown envelope. It sprung back to its original placement, covering the used tissues and revealing plastic wrappers of all sorts. There was one for a surf wax, or “sex wax” as surfers would call it, covered by those of guitar strings. He missed going to the beach and surfing. He couldn’t quite find the time for it, having to learn playing the guitar, and all.

He wanted to be better at playing the guitar. It wasn’t like him before. Well, before he found out that she liked guitar players. Ever since then, his skim and surf boards have been laying at one corner of is room, thirsting for salt water.

Between the plastic wrappers and the Marlboro packs were scattered Johnson’s buds, nail clippings and old sheets of paper dating back to the last semester. Most of the papers were marked with red ink, having numbers less than one-half. Most days of his last sem was spent on seeing the girl and neglecting his studies. He’s been kicked out of school ever since.

Somewhere in those piles of trash are an assortment of sando bags from SM with recipts bearing product names: Ferrero Rocher, Bear Hugs, some flowershop, Unisilver, and KFC.

And somewhere in those piles of trash is a crumpled paper with words that can’t be deciphered because some letters were washed away by some liquid. The paper itself was in a bad shape, having been crumpled and straightened out for so many times. One word that can be hardly read is the one thing he never dared reading: Good-bye.

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~ by saikow on April 13, 2007.

One Response to “Module III.”

  1. .. pathway to manhood is a very sensitive issue; and yet i’m so much amazed. And yeah, i could laugh —– OUT LOUD! =p

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