Time Ghost

~Ring....Ring~ It is four o’clock in the morning. Smells of a cook down the first floor. A man drifted awake by the triumphant tone that goes off on the side of the bed. Blue-colored eyes goes straight to the buzzing sounds, which flares repeatedly as the man was in the process for killing it off incessantly. A tiger-head stares straight over the other end of the wall. Instincts of a slanted vision to kill adorned its pondering awareness. Jaws wide-opened for a battle, yet such beast was unable to hunt as its neck fits nicely on the white background behind. ~slam~ Thunderous blast on the table. The bushy-brown hair flies around in the aftermath of his outrage. For a human to be conscious at that time determines two reasons in mind. Firstly, He wants to lay down a leak beneath the gray-dotted sweatpants over the bottom. Low temperatures has encircled him for hours in the bedroom. After all, one man’s struggle has been always about the wood and its indefinite needs for pleasantries on its nerves. These cells developed themselves into a solid string of meat whenever streams of water awaits. In automatic fashion, they will flush down madness into the hole and fires a jackpot to the unknown before them. Of course, the white ones also included in this discussion. What’s a man without their petty fountain of youth? Just don’t forget to rinse it down once those purified waters enter your throat. Secondly, chains of works were starting on his day onwards. A man will be capable and ready for the warfare on the field by preparing it all in the early morning beforehand. To munch a plate of bread and devours fried beef at the prime, most should be arranged prior to the actual schedule instead of going so in a hurry hours after. ~stomp-stomp~ The middle-aged man strolls sluggishly towards the washroom across the south. It is located near rows of shelves that were seemingly judgmental to its owners. Why so? Their knobs fainfly follows the man’s footsteps and patronizing them in silent. If they have a mouth invented on the middle of its door, foul words would be spoken as a racket for their entertainment. Wardrobe’s life is quite dreary sometimes. They have to be exposed unwillingly in each session by their possessors and goes naked in most occasions with no permission asked. ~kriek~ White door goes unlocked. Yet, wafted-up smell of fried eggs distracted him away. A hungry male is on board to the meal business more than to be washed-up within the pool of blue in the meantime. Deprivation on the stomach controls the feet, dragging him out from his previous needs for chasing down food in the wild. “Ah, better grab a slice ‘fore it’s gone.” The man muttered,” My wife’s gonna gulp those down in minutes.” ~stomp-stomp~ The ladder shakes beneath as the brown-bearded man descends. He wraps either hands onto the rail for means of security. Indeed, His head was heavy and shaken by flows of sleepy nerves under the veins. It requires a bumpy kick to the guts for the spirit to combust by crispy bacons’ aftertaste inside his mouth. Really, the stairs struck himself more as a burden at the moment rather than being one helpful amenities of the house. In each footsteps taken for going downstairs, His stomach growls and grumbles in response. ~stomp~ Eventually, His slightly-crippled left foot extends to the wooden floor and landed creaking sounds on the top. There are boards that have to be repaired all over the place. His wife often complains about those protruding nails under the stairs. It has given wounds to her feet multiple times in many unfortunate mishaps, to which formed scabs on her soles because of such repeated accidents afterwards. Hearing another squeaking boards across the dining room, the old man thus yelled out of his lungs afterwards,“Honey, what’s for breakfast?” He asked. Instead of waiting for an answer, He drives towards the table to take a look. There are three strips of fried bacon lying besides the slice of toast. All of them has been eaten a little, leaving the old man with mostly table scraps for the meal. “Really? You’ve had them ‘fore me, Lilia?” The old man rattled. Against his pouting chant, However, The old woman roared in return. “You’re really wetter than a mad hen, do ya? It’s been like weeks since you’ve had yourself eaten a full plate.” She mocked. The old man somehow having no rebound for that claim. He sighed in a few stints and took hold on what’s left on the table afterwards,”I’m hankerin’ for a calm kitty, but all God’s havin’ me is a blastin’ cougar.” He protested. ~tap-tap~ Then, the old man proceeded towards his next schedule. Five on the clock, a perfect period for him to clean up and wash nasty bits of a night. He wears an adult diaper before sleep to prevent odds of leakage under the crotch. From time to time, a seasoned mature male has them for protection of pride on the bed. Prostate problems arise in this particular chapter of life for some men, and He is one of them at a glance. ~kriek~ Door opened. ~Blitz!~ All of sudden, a strike of blinding light occurred inside the bathroom. The old man was hit directly on the forehead and blasted away to the bed subsequently.