Despondency by Simon Gibson

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Despondency.

Six thirty, and already the night's television was becoming mundane. The occasional drama would be advertised after the small thirty-minute filler shows and soon James Trible was bored.

" There's never anything good on anymore." Trible stated to himself as he frustratingly flicked through the channels. He switched the television off after realising that it was better to turn it off rather than watch the drivel for the sake of it. He looked around the small room in which he had been living in for over a year now - he was a student at the local university, and moved from home to be closer to where he could both study and work, as he also held a part time job in a pet shop.

Moving to the stereo, he pressed the ‘play' button and sat down to read one of the piles of books that cluttered his room like skyscrapers on a cityscape. "Reaches of the mind" was the title and Trible was engrossed in its pages.

The music started from above.

Trible had tried hard to be civil and friendly to his housemates when he had arrived, and to some extent he had succeeded; it was unfortunate that he had also found the effort quite draining, as he had never been the most social of people. They had seemed quite friendly at first but soon they left him to his own devices and were off doing their own thing, which he did not mind so much, but did feel lonely at times when the noises of laughter and drunkard joy flowed through to his quiet room.

He had tried before to make them keep the noise to a reasonable level but had never really succeeded. He wondered what they thought of him really, for the few times they had spoken were little more than a ‘hello' and ‘goodbye'. He was sure that they thought he was weird, but he was happy with this, for weird people didn't get bothered by others as nobody wants to be seen with an outcast.

The music continued to blare for a further two hours and, after much lip biting and stout walking around the room, in an act of parody of the mad, he decided to ask, as politely as one could after two hours of enforced mental rage, to turn the volume down.

With the passing days he felt more and more apart from those he lived with, so after much thought, generally circling the negative mind, he decided to see if they would go with him to the student night down at the "Clawed Fang" pub that evening.
As he expected, they were far to busy with work, and other things which took up their time which would allow them to avoid him that evening. Not surprised, yet a little hurt, Trible left them to their fun, he heard the giggles as the door closed, and he knew that they would never accept him.

By eight that night he was the last one left in the house, for all their lies they could not help but be so blatant in their dislike of him, even mentioning him in slightly hushed tones as they left the house. However, Trible was not entirely alone, for there were other ways to be occupied apart from drinking. He set to work with his first project that year, he knew that it was nights like this which gave him that time alone, the quiet hours of the weekend, in which he could do work uninterrupted.

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