Highway of Fallen Kings

Little ants scrambled on the table top in a three story apartment building, in 1 abode, and squashed with only but their inaudible bickering as their lives floated away by 1 very weary man. Again he had awoken to the unwelcomed creatures roaming freely and had to put a little bit of himself into their chopping minuscule mouths. If only they would knock on the door, for the man to answer, and then in which he would decline politely their queries of entering the apartment to eat whatever they pleased. Though Steven knew very well that beings of nature were not so thoughtful anymore. There was never any overwhelming satisfaction that grew within the depths of the man's subconscious, and little pests inhabiting his only secured quarters was like poking needles to his brain. The needles would extinguish the constant air flow of relief he felt when he ceased to exist in others' presence.

Feeling the familiar rush of agitation, he took a table cloth to wipe the remains of the foul buggers, and moved briskly to the kitchen drawer in which held the keys to his apartment and other utensils such as playing cards that had turned obsolete in the past month and also writing appliances. He engulfed the metallic figures in his hand before closing the drawer without a thought and walked stealthily to the doorway to put his grey fedora hat upon his head before exiting his residence.

The neighbors were very lively as they should have been at only 5 in the morning, mowing their lawns and walking their dogs. They were only just the most pleasing excuses to wake up to at a day of relying on a maximum of 3 hours of slumber. Steven felt very dandy knowing that they all had turned their uppermost attention to him as he arrived from the last few stairs of the complex and was walking to his car. 'Oh, how entrancing as a man to do such a thing,' Steven may have declared to the quotation bubbles invisibly floating above all their heads. 'How interesting it is to stalk a man and be so selfishly curious as he walked to his car. I don't think I've ever seen a man walk to his car. What is a car?'

Steven pitied the people for they did not share an ounce of relation to his gloriously pessimistic train of thought. He often wondered, as he insured himself to the safety of his car and tinted windows which offered some sense of privacy, if there was a personal brand of catnip that he produced uncountably and therefore people would immediately be attracted to his presence seeming as they were so nosy and troublesome. Why must they always stare at him and no one else as if they were zombies desiring to feast off his flesh? Their looks were strongly hypnotized from what he could see...

Without a second of hesitation, he took off in the direction of a very busy city in which he knew would be infested with more people of the same kind. The radio station played all of the same tunes- the constant Pearljam melodies, the newest released singles, the mainstream beeping noises with artificially edited voices- all of which bothered Steven endlessly more. As much as he was grateful for music, they never played anything he liked, so he usually kept the radio off. They didn't sell CDs anymore in his area, and just that thought to him was despicable.

Rummaging a hand through his dark locks, he pulled in at his destination: a coffee shop. It was rather crowded, but he enjoyed watching the people inside the market with flustered faces whether from the fact that they were going to be late for work or that it would take at least an hour until their order came. Steven could care less about the wait. He wanted to feel the day drag on because so many had sped down a highway already this summer. If his life were to end at any moment, wouldn't he rather live it long for a day?

The coffee shop's population had decreased immensely before Steven got up from a table to take his order. All of who was left were the workers and 2 ladies seated just briefly beyond his table. 1 lady in particular, with very long, wavy brown hair kept staring intensely at Steven. He found it that she probably wasn't implying to, but her eyes were more squinted than lustful in a good manor. Sure, Steven could not disagree that he was more attractive than the average human, but pathetic attempts were another con to his days.

"May I please order a coffee, light, and no sugar?" He already picked the crumbled 5 dollar bill from the back pocket of his skinny jeans and plopped it on the counter.

It wasn't long until Steven received his drink and left the shop with a taunting wink to the woman profusely stalking him. His next destination was a word he had thought of as he reminisced of his dreary summers. His heart fell asunder when his eyes landed on the automobile that he declared his. He wasn't moved by the shiny appearance or the leather material of the seats that adorned his car. He felt like walking out of the crowds and alone to his carefully selected destination... and so he did.

He began feeling like Richard Ashcroft as in the music video, "Bittersweet Symphony", where he had this signature strut and bumped occasionally into other bystanders not even muttering an apology. He would return to his car, but not unti a very long time.



Cars accelerated nearly 10 to 15 more miles per hour than limit on the highway that Steven was wandering on. In his hand was still the styrofoam cup but now empty as he had already drank the last of his cuppa. The caffeine had somewhat supported his lanky, tall figure that was swaying prior to his arrival on the highway. The need to roll his eyes consecutively, to add some extent of moisture back into them, soon lessened. He felt that his conscience was more awake.

When his shoes began hitting the pavement of a bridge that was constructed only above another highway, exhaustion had kicked Steven in the shin. His legs were aching with all the walking he had done where as it felt like sharp rocks were tied to his knees and he was stepping on Legos like he used to as a boy. He took this oppurtunity to sit close to the railing, allow his knees to buckle until he was crouching, and take a deep breath. The air smelt musty to his nostrils and most likely polluted by the constant fatigue leaving the automobiles behind him. He did not care that most drivers were beeping at him or yelling disturbing comments out their windows directing towards him.

"What am I gonna do now? I'm already too far down... and when am I gonna be free?" He thought with a chuckle. "I'm just a ghost on a highway."

Staring at the traffic below him, he brought his legs to his chest in a brief stretch before sticking them between the poles of the rail that connected to the road. Another humorous thought had revelated in Steven's mind, that as he sat here, he was a portrayal of the kid in the music video for "Paranoid Android" by Radiohead, with the exception he was not sitting on top of a street light.

Steven brought a hand to his dark hair and gave a quick tussle with it. It had been short for the past year, but he couldn't help but miss the way his fingers used to glide down with the length of his hair. He thought that perhaps his short hair just wasn't meant to be no matter how mature it made him look. Along with the thin layer of stubble protruding from his chin and cheeks, which he touched next, he felt that needed to vanish as his hair would grow.

Though with the sudden wisdom of his appearance, he couldn't help but think of the way his ex-girlfriend's hair used to tangle so easily. She had always complained of her hair to be dry, but he enjoyed staring at her and feeling her hair no matter the state. She never believed him when he told her how beautiful she always was, but yet she believed another man when he told just once how attractive her profile was.

For once, Steven had acknowledged how calmly he took the situation when she had packed her bags in the dimmed bedroom wearing one of his own baggy white shirts. He reminisced the impatient look dwelling in her irises as she looked up at him, in a bent position from her bag, asking where her cellphone was. He recalled his sudden stupidity that rushed over him at that moment and the loss of words that had haunted him, earning a slap to the face from the girl he had once loved.

A chuckle erupted from his throat with the last memory of him shoving her out of the door from the fear that overwhelmed him. His new motto had become from that day, "Fear makes you do stupid things", which wasn't entirely false. In most present day situations, he finds that the quote was very common and relative to his experiences. Take the ants roaming on the counter, for example. Even though Steven would never admit this to anyone else, he was actually terrified by them and therefore took their lives. It was in apprehension that he theorized the creatures would rule over his apartment with manifest. He felt sympathy for the ants from his crude actions that he maneuvered.

Steven cracked his toes as he saw the traffic begin unraveling from ahead. The ruckus being caused around his back had not ceased and had actually grown worse. People were now throwing objects out the window at him to get him off the road. He just smiled at their foolishness. Of course they could not embrace their own happiness, so they ruined others'.

Leaning back on his hands, making sure they were still in bounds from the white line, he suddenly felt an object crashing at the back of his head, and then following suitely was the sweet, pink moisture that drenched his shirt. His eyes nonetheless stared down at his new decoration but his reaction was rather simple. He had found himself laughing again.

"Hey buddy!, are you going to get off the road now?" yelled a middle-aged man sat in his slow vehicle.

Steven turned around to the man, baring his teeth in a smirk, and retorted. "I'm fine right here, man. Go get yourself a donut..."

"What did you say, punk?!"

"Did I stutter?"

The sound of tires screaming as the man sped away filled the air in abrupt commotion. It wasn't long until the tone of sirens heard from a distance filled Steven's ears. He had known that there would be punishment for his foolery, but he did not give a care. As long as he was breathing and enjoying himself, he did not welcome shame as it had knocked on his skull. He did not want to say he was prepared for when the cop stood in his face grimly, but rather stupefied even though he contributed in a stunning act.

"Sir, you are coming with me." said the authorized tone of voice.

Steven looked briefly up at the sky to smile before turning his back at the man dress in the suit and began walking away from him with the strut he had required from earlier. The officer gained up on Steven and tackled him to the ground without trouble to get the handcuffs on the young man.

Steven was forced into the back of the police vehicle, seated close to the window of where he was sitting before once with his legs dangling. From there his clouded blue eyes landed on the styrofoam cup left as a memory of his presence. The small smile tugged at his lips again and his last notion was a curt nod to the cup.