The Ontological Escape Artist

[jack_babalon]

Even as the mourning doves sung the sun out of the morning mist above me I knew I was not here. I had secretly escaped already, leaving behind only enough flesh to fill out the uniform. They made the uniform march, they made the uniform do push-ups, they made it run and stand still for hours on end. They especially enjoyed screaming at the uniform for various infractions they would make up and the uniform in turn just stared ahead, offering them the dead eyes they demanded. They thought they had me when they tied my tongue up with the word 'sir'. But I smuggled in a poets imagination and picked the lock on their word when they thought I was sleeping. They thought they owned me when they gave my name a number, but they never realized that I was nowhere to be found in my name and so I gave it to them freely. They thought their uniform would be my prison but in the end it was nothing more than a decoy while my ghost walked past them a free man.

Comments

[catwalk.livejournal.com]

that's just... damn, that's cool.