White noise. All I hear is white noise from white voices who wear white shirts and shoes and who drink white wine from white chalices. White. Its post-translucent qualities add a cold nuance to the perpetually disinfected and hygienic lives I am caught in. White. All my friends are white and all my enemies are white. Everything is write, monochromatic. When I wake and open my eyes from the only darkness I am able to envision I feel the sharp pain of sharpness behind my eyeballs when gazing upon the clearness of white that perpetually surounds me. How long have I been here? How long will I stay? Did I come here on my accord? All unanswerable questions. I know we could find some form of unit to expound on the idea of time but when units can be infinitely divided or expanded it doesn't mean a fucking thing, I don't know how to answer any of my questions.
Today is like any other day. I wake and remove myself from clean and crisp bed sheets which are barely tussled by my pre-comatose sleep. I wear equally clean and crisp bed attire, looking as if I am another piece of matching furniture in my room. If I stood infinitely still I would slowly meld into the background. I could picture a family walking through my home, seeing if they wished to purchase the medium sized condo, and failing to notice the young man standing perfectly still. Perhaps a lamp shade on my head would help complete the scene.
I would carefully walk to my bathroom and turn on the tap and wash my face with the translucent water which escapes in a less than impressive torrent of streaming sound. From there I would leave my room into my kitchen and ingest my white plain eggs on white bread toast and perhaps, if I am feeling adventurous and in need of some stimulation, watch some television. Perhaps I would watch the news in order to remind myself how un-terrible my life was. The perpetual boredom was a firm and strong ideal compared to the terribleness of war, famine and disease.
My mouth would move mechanically as I ate my barely organic food. The crunch of bread unsurprisingly acted as the soul human sound in the home, emitting a sadness which can only be possible when human actions are done robotically. Then a break would emerge from the pathetic existence when I would take part in the only pleasure of the morning, the yolk of my egg. The yellowness which emitted my light would break from its thin and frail mould and spill forth. I would greedily suck on the edge of the egg making sure every aspect of that yellow orgasm enters my oral cavity and allows a shiver of palette encompassing joy leak through my frigid and calculated body. The warmth of it would set me free for a few moments and I would close my eyes, once again incapsulated by the beautiful colourlessness of darkness and let the only instance of joy cling for as long as is humanly needed. Than the moment would end and I would clean my single plate, wipe down the counter, and clean myself in white, brush my teeth in white and lick my lips to whiteness.
I am a 20 to 30 white male, I am intelligent and I am socially awkward. I am the most monstrous demographic in the world, the most likely to be a serial killer and numerous other horrifying characters in the world. I am also incredibly pathetic and meticulously structured in my existence. I have two paths laid before me, the coldness of my white existence or the path towards monstrous anonymity. What path would you ultimately choose?
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