His nickname was Pampers.This was because, although he dealt with all the excrement that office work involved, he was easily disposed of.It was not a nickname the he enjoyed, nevertheless, he tolerated it with what he hoped was good grace. At least it proved that people noticed his presence. Filing. That was Pamper's job. Sorting pieces of paper. Well, he was ment to sort pieces of paper. Instead, Pampers would just place the documents in any place, in any order. He had been doing this for two years, and nobody had realised. He almost wished that they would.
'Hello, Mr Wizard of Oz.''Hello young man. What do you want?''Well, I would quite like some courage please.''Really? Well, I'm going to tell you the same thing that I told the lion.''What was that?''Get over yourself.''What?''Your lack of courage is simply your way of coping with reality. By refusing to endanger yourself emotionally, you shut yourself off from any possible meaningful experiences. Rather than face your emotions head on, you act like the poor, innocent boy, who's fear is holding him back. In essence, my dear boy, my argument is this...Grow some.'
'Hello mr Wizard of Oz.''Hello young boy. How can I help you?''I was wondering whether you could give me a heart?''Why would you want a heart?''Because I'm in love, and I want to give it to someone.''Really? Well, I'm going to tell you something that the education system has obviously failed to do?''What's that?''The heart is not the emotional centre of the body. It is just an organ that pumps blood to all the tisses in the body in order to allow respiration to take place.''What about love?''Don't get me started...'
'You still haven't told her you love her, yet?''Nope. I was planning to, but I just...never got around...to it. You know...' 'Don't you ever hate yourself for being a coward?''Not really. I came to the conclusion that courage is for wimps.''How so?''By conquering your fear, you remove it, so you no longer feel afraid. It takes true courage to live with your fear for the rest of your life, constantly being wary and constantly being disgusted at yourself.''You don't honestly believe that, do you?''...No, but it helps me to sleep at night.'
It was, without a doubt, the worst delivery in the world.Forced out harshly. No silken sentences to match the sentiment. Blunt, like an over-used knife. A hammer. The words having to break down walls that had been erected long ago. He wished he could go back and try it again. Maybe he should have written a letter. Would that have been too impersonal? Probably.Nothing would have been right. Nothing could have been right, for perfection does not come instantly. It has to be worked towards, one day at a time.Neverthless, he had taken the first step.
Santa put the sleigh on autopilot. It was safer that way. He was so drunk, that he thought his sleigh was being pulled by 39 dogs with green noses. It had been a good Christmas. He'd filled a few stockings. Made a few people happy. Ate. A lot.Of course, he never got a Christmas present (he saw the wine and mince pies as payment, not gifts). He always assumed this was how God felt. If a God was in trouble, who did they pray to? If Santa wanted a present, who did he ask? He sighed and fell asleep.
For the briefest of seconds, he thought that the whole world stopped. It was during breakfast. He unfocused his eyes and allowed his mind to wander over old and familiar territory. Just as he was lifting his food to his mouth, he stopped. For a second, so did everything else.That was, of course, untrue. For a given value of 'untrue'. The feeling went. His thoughts went back to wandering, the food continued its course. Nothing had changed. Nothing observable.Nevertheless, the moment played on his mind for some time. He wanted to harness it again. Capture it. Use it.
It seemed that down some dull, profound tunnelI escaped clicking of red pens and tut-tutting of examiners.Yet also here, teenage sleepers groaned To fast in thought or electronics to be bestirred Then, as I probed one, he sprang upAnd stared at me with piteous recognition. 'Strange friend', I said, 'Here is no cause to mourn.''None', he said, 'save the undone years. The waste.The destruction of creativity and individuality. I searched for Originality, but the world will be content with cliches.''I am creativity you killed, my friend. We knew each other, once.Let us sleep now.'