"My words of work it's a lyrical joke,
I'm a Jack of all riffs
Starting after the line and make it quick
It pains me to see all my papers red ex'd in progress
living only for a hiatus
Inspiration comes from within but so far
My inspiration has gone to shit."
"AAAARGH!" she screamed out into the still air of an unusually calm and rainy night. "No it doesn’t work... That one last line." whispered Alethia in all her confusion to the pattering of water droplets pounding the window glass. With furrowed brows tucked in a slant she tilted her head to make sense of the words that fumbled out of her mind like mutant cells. They didn't work sometimes or there would always be that one line that was incompetent to her understanding. As Alethia got up from her stationary and workspace she madly stomped throughout her apartment, tossing pencil cans and smashing pencils into nearby concrete walls. A wrath so great of a high took control now, and with that her smile was devilishly spread across her face as she saw the black and brown fragments of wood laid across the cherry flooring. Alethia was the type of girl who was poised and composed around strangers but when she was at home fury was her only true friend that knew her in all her glory. In spite of her rage getting the better of her, Alethia knew that this time her rage would not be suppressed and it was oddly the worst temper tantrum she’d encountered ever since her parents died. In all truth, Alethia was alone in the world (and the biggest sadist one could ever fear to meet). "This life isn't really mine. This body isn't mine," she whispered in a struggle to conceive the world enveloping her existence. "Fuck it. I'm out,” she declared in a frustrated tone, making large swift steps toward the door. Her chestnut stained hair flailed as she thrashed about in an attempt to quell the monstrous insanity her mind harbored which lays in a body so fragile and thin.
However, she wasn't alone for in a world, “he” was listening. Conversely, “he” wasn’t necessarily human, but from a race that had been studying earth for thousands of years, a race that knew everything about the Homo sapiens from language to cultural acceptance to physical appearance, being one of them “he” was watching her. Extraterrestrial life? Yes but from a separate universe. Conversely they were not the aliens you would expect. They had similarities with the human genetic makeup; toes, eyes, a single head complete with a brain, gender, sexual reproductive systems, ears, similar life spans etc. But they obtained a chromosome different from ours, it was formed in such a way that it made their race more adaptable and suitable to live because of a higher intelligence level. This race, they call themselves Xlarians.
His name is Seth Brmieon. He had lived in the planet Xlari for all his life, joined the alternate universe exploratory crew at age 10 to find the greatness of the unknown. A decade after his joining her ranked number one in the exploration committee for his interpretations of an underground culture of music and arts in the location he was assigned to, a city in New York where the nights are always lit. He stayed at a rundown apartment under the cover name of George Moore. His new assignment, to bring back a cooperative 'volunteer' of an explored area of New York or anywhere in North America. In order to do so Seth had to integrate his entity whole to being a ‘human’, which meant living on earth over the span of a month to a year in earth days which were similar to Xlarian day but off .0002 seconds. Before this, his studies were 24 hours each month of reporting and scrutinizing human life with its many cultures. The idea of adapting to a world a universe away from his own excited him for the thought of living in an area unfamiliar was a way to crave the adventurous soul.
Seth sat in his room after a day of 'work' his heavy eyelids closed. His tall back sculptured by muscles tense, a face that was molded to make even the elite stare, and a mind frame set to fool etched inside a brain that could hold an eons worth of knowledge, were boring him. Other than that, Seth hadn't slept in a week. His sun burst, orange-red eyes were covered by brown lenses to ensure normalcy amongst the human race.
Assimilation to his new life was troubling because of the loud trumpeting of honking cars, raving parties of his neighbor parallel to him, and the shouts that would usually come from the drunkards walking from the bar that housed craving souls from the disease of boredom. But the one thing that distracted him even more than annoyances human life created was the mellifluous voice of a female neighbor who sung right where the thin slab of concrete, plaster, and wood was erected. He fought sleep to hear this gift of music. It was something that was condemned in his world to further the studies of science, technology, and research. His world, though seemingly perfect lacked national identity in the centralized cosmopolitan city. At the very place were his childhood took place. His eyelids sprung open and the loud crash and scream coming from the place where his entertainment was sealed off. Unsettledness embedded his skin as his heart rose to his chest making every beat faster and more distinct than the last. "What the?" he stood from his place and dashed towards her room. He feared the reality of never hearing beauty in the madness of the new world.
