Escaping into the periphery.

I think I might start free-forming short stories and other creative writing exploits here just to see what comes of my brain after all this effort is accrued.  So... here goes...

His name was Alfred but he preferred to be called Alfie nowadays.  It made him feel a bit younger than his mottled, somewhat haggard exterior suggested.  It was a little reminder to the days of his youth when he remembered the feeling of being important.

Now, as he wandered down the side of the barren city street, he shrugged aside the bitter winds in an almost casual way.  His body was hungry, as he had not eaten anything substantial for several days, but he made no mental note of his condition... his purposes, it seemed to him, were outside the needs the physical realm.  He needed the metaphysical, the immeasurable, the mesmerizing.  He needed music that was calling his name.

It seemed to come into him from all sides of his being, yet always from one specific direction before him which guided his gently persistent pace.  He was not sure the source from whence it came, it's manner of origin, or even the purveyors of this fine music's identity.  He merely knew he must find himself among it all, at once.  He needed to breath it in.  He needed to smell it, and feel it on his skin with his eyes closed.  He needed to draw the pulse of the rhythms in tandem with his own heartbeat.  He needed to sense the music's vivid colors, and shapes, as they danced all over the walls all around him... for, to him, this was truly living.

What he could never actually realize was how truly distant the music was.  Deep down, Alfie knew he could never actually reach his seemingly attainable goal.  His efforts would ultimately go in vain despite his truly unconquerable spirit to the otherwise.  The music was far too aloof, far too unknowable for any one man to arrive at its step unaided.

He would follow the rules of life on occasion.  When it came to family and friends he always held fast to the higher and better places.  And, sure, he might occasionally turn a blind eye on the sometimes unfriendly circumstances he faced... but who didn't?  He had places to go and people to meet when he got there.

Here is where it all eluded him.  He was chasing a piece of something beyond this life.  He could never realize that he had actually left himself behind in this pursuit of something so ethereal.  The city was not barren for it's lack of internal consequence, the wind was not lacking cold for his callous acclimation to it, the hunger was not heeded for it's actual presence in his stomach...  he truly had passed beyond the veil of this life while sitting on the city block street corner several major intersections ago.  He was now in a sort of limbo between the living world and it's eternal after effects.  He was now doing the thing he always wanted to do while actually living.  He was chasing the untouchable dream of the perfect song.

The look on his frozen corpse's face easily validated the joy of his post-mortal efforts.  Alfie really did find what he was looking for.

The end.

And... that's a wrap.  Where the heck was I going with that?  I had a mental picture in my head of the scene at play but I apparently had quite a bit of difficulty in properly, or even eloquently, describing it.  To be fair to myself, I am a bit on the exhausted side of things, but I certainly lacked a clear focus as I attempted to unfold this little scene in a pleasant and meaningful way.  The bigger goals were certainly somewhat vacant.

It's nice to give a personal critique to my own work right now... I am not sure I have done this kind of thing in the past, outside of the mental reflections in review of whatever work I had created, but taking the time to put it down in words right away are actually somewhat useful and instructive to me I think.  It could be a useful form of self-editing that I could use in the process of my future writing endeavors.

Fun!