Being some... by Afdel Kurniawan

(2 ratings)
Rate this Story (5 best)


He was not a smart man; he knew it, and he was fine with it.

It was a nice day. The air was nice and cool, and sweet enough to actually inhale. His lungs were enjoying it. Then suddenly, they cringed, and squeezed the air sacks until their walls were kissing each other in disgust. Someone was too near.

"Hey, how are you doing?" said the newcomer.


Just long enough for it to be nearly classified as one.

"I'm good. How are you?" he replied, without thinking, and immediately got a backhand slap from Mr. Brain, for his typical brainless response.




Then immediately looking for some approval,

"Wow! That was a unique exchange right there." Flinching – no slap – relaxing.

"You're funny", she said with a smile. Not looking to break her stride.

"I'm funny? Then why didn't she stick around?"

He was not a funny man; he knew it, and he was fine with it.


He was not an articulate man; he knew it, and he was fine with it.

The night was as nice as the day had been. It was a little crispier and bit more pepper-minty. The stars seemed glad to be hanging with their pal – Mr. Fully Visible-0% In Phase-Bright Moon. They were almost reveling in their perfect immortal existence. Until one of them blazed across Astronomical Boulevard, as the multitude of companions watched in shock from the immense multi-dimensional sidewalks. Instantly, all of them zipped upwards, and he was left staring at dusty gravel. He turned over onto his back and stared up at the sky. They were all perfectly in place. He stood up, dusted himself off, and kicked the conspiring tree root he had tripped over.

He hadn't nearly regained his composure, when the muscles on the back of his neck attempted to crawl upwards to lay siege to his skull. Someone was too near.

"Pretty night, huh?" said the new newcomer. "Yeah. But I assure you; I had nothing to do with it. It's those damned stars." He was surprised at his own candor. Maybe it had something to do with the fall.

"Yeah, they do look quite extraordinary tonight. They almost seem to be reveling in their immortality." Slap! It was still him talking. He stroked the back of his neck. As he did so, the newcomer started to fade away. Apparently, the spastic muscles had been successful in their siege after all.

He was not a sane man; he knew it and he was fine with it.


He was not a good-looking man; he knew it, and he was fine with it.

"You have beautiful hair, you know."

He opened his eyes and stared ahead into the mirror. It was the hair-dresser of course.

"Why don't you keep it long? It really suits your features", she continued. "No one's begged me to keep it long, lately", he said with a grin. She just stared back at his reflection, her expression hung in the ‘expecting reply' zone. He obviously hadn't released the words his mind had deployed. He stroked the back of his neck, wiped of the stupid grin and finally said, "I just got bored". He didn't really know the reason himself. Maybe he was bored of coming up with smart, articulate, funny answers, after all. All of a sudden, the still cringing air-sacks relaxed, and continued on their normal course. So did the muscles on the back of his neck. And so did his poor over-stretched soul. "You gotta stop beating yourself up, you beautiful moron!" they all sang in unison; and pretty soon all the stars and the tree roots and the newcomers and the slaps joined in. "It's about time Mr. Obvious Revelation showed up".

He was a smart, articulate, good-looking, funny man; he knew it and he was fine with it. Who cared about being sane?