Note from the Author: I wanted to try a different method of storytelling. Below, you will read a developing story. I will place an *** for each cut-off point and will continue with an additional piece of content as it comes to my mind. The goal is to eventually have a completed story.

You, the reader, are more than welcome to chime in on the direction of this story through the comments.

Let’s build a story together!

***

Like A Tattoo

His hair, a darker shade of brown, furrily caressed his forehead. Brows low in contemplation as he sat at his desk. Although silent in his speech, he consciously raced himself in his own mind, trying to solve the mathematics behind his feelings. Genuinely, he was new to this, he wasn’t used to getting the things he had longed for, nor was he used to being elected for them.

Selectively, and for years, he had chosen every individual that he bonded with and unfortunately, each bond led to failure. Compulsiveness guided him from one addiction to another. Although many of them helped him seek a healthier and more simple lifestyle, he was still self-destructive all the more.

Curiously, he had been lead down a different path, by someone younger, someone eager, and quite the opposite of himself. Eric wasn’t very fond of things he could figure out easily, like plots and schemes. He always took the skillful and more challenging way through life, even if it meant guarding himself to capture his goals.                                                                                                     

And so, he sat. He sat pondering the day, pondering the evening, pondering the silence. Every now and then, he would remind himself of the electricity he felt in her presence. But as stubborn as he had grown to be, he shook it off. Tending to his work, arbitrarily having one meaningless conversation after the next without a second thought. On most days, Eric worked on autopilot, yet was coherent enough to complete important tasks. Coffee helped him reach the end of the day, exercise helped drive him to a heavier state of mind, and alcohol helped drown out all the noise.

Frustrated, he stared at what he had drawn on his concept board. The conduits of a condo to be constructed, deconstructed, and reconstructed. Absentmindedly, he began to craft the interiors from scratch; he pinned on colored swatches and fabric, sketched in furniture, and erased it all again.

The boy was a dapper one. Strict in his own stylings, but rugged because it was the only way he felt comfortable.