There are just somethings that I notice in the morning. My mind's boredom is in lax mode and I pick up on small ironies.
There seems to be a hole in God's O-Zone layer right above the hill near my house. Ounce by light-filled ounce oozes from the rend. Dripping down the crown of this little slope. Filling each soul on it's way down.
Just by looking at the teenagers in the area, you can almost pin-point which part of the street they live on.
At the top, closest to this celestial tear, is a family with 2.5 kids and a dog. White picket fence is still on back order. The oldest girl is the perfect model of a "godly daughter". She doesn't swear. She doesn't do anything, really. Just sort of sits there and looks pretty.
Then there is another family. Slightly more real than the previous. The son is a "brilliant student". The historian of his class. Attends the local collegiate high school. His parents have been divorced but are on amicable terms. Light swearing and the killing of innocent animals allowed.
Moving on down this light-drenched hill:
Then comes the area where fading starts to show through. My sector. Sure, I've got some decent intelligence. Life hasn't been the kindest. I'm a pagan. Curse like a sailor when provoked and have a tendency towards violence. I'm human despite how much I hate it.
Then you look both ways and cross the dead silent road. There stands the house of my mentor. He has recieved about as much of the "light" as I have.
Family is stable, but never around. He has a small infatuation with all things dark and freaky. Your atypical goth-boy. Complete from his lank black hair to his ear buds blasting Rammstein and the metal encrusted boots. He peppers his words with phrases only heard in a brothel and knows what the outside world looks like. He knows the pain and the anguish.
There is just one house left, a little split-level with a pool. The low rumble of bass seethes from the upper story windows. Inside lies what looks like a miniature Ozzy Osbourne. Long, unbrushed hair falling over his bespectacled eyes. His Black Sabbath t-shirt blends into the dark comforter of his bed. He lives in the dregs. The last little eddy of light before it dies. Sure, we all have our perks. But it's the way that we fade that makes us interesting.