The Never Ending Story

A lit cigarette burned slow between peters chapped lips, the smoke crawled up his pale face, and left its signature stench in his messy, uncombed, brown hair. He sat in his favorite chair, it was 2 am and he could see flashes of lightning in the distance, there's was no audible thunder but he waited patiently for the rain, he liked the rain. He took a long drag, held the smoke in for a while, then let it out slowly, savoring every last puff like it was his last. Peter had lost all emotion at this point, happiness, sadness, grief, pain, laughter... He was just a blob, nothing, he had nothing to look forward to, nothing to desire, he'd completely lost his mind. His days consisted of fighting dragons, mixing ingredients and making potions, and making steel plated armor. Some days he'd pick up an ak47 and shoot down nazi zombies, then he'd take a break and smoke a cigarette and go right back to where he left off. Other days he'd just sit and watch his fish tank, staring at it for so long he was convinced that he was a fish swimming inside the aquarium, floating so gracefully between the plants, and chasing his other companions. Peters mind had become blank, he had lost contact with all human life, and he did not desire interaction with anyone, he liked his world just the way it was. The days he had to do errands were nightmares. There were always awkward looks and situations, he never knew what to say and if he did.. Well he'd only make it awkwardly painful. His sentences weren't long, he never tried to have a conversation, he just wanted to get to the point, and get out. One thing Peter did love was sleeping.. He liked the darkness, the quiet, the dreams that he could almost never remember. It's too late for Peter, but his stories will never end.