Page 98 - www.composition1.com

So I picked up the gun, and I tried again. This time I pulled the trigger, and I could almost feel the
metal in my brain. After it was done, I was still there, in the same office with the same white shade
and the same man who was covered in darkness on a big screen. "Don't be afraid." That's what the
white shade says to me.

A few seconds later, the white shade begins to explain to me that this man who is covered in
darkness in this photograph is a bad person, but that the real problem is that he can't die because of
what he knows. He murders, he steals, he rapes. "All that bad guy stuff."

So I ask it what this has to do with me. The white shade says that I have to stop him. "But you just
told me that he can't be stopped." The white shade then tells me that I have to convince him that
what he is doing is wrong. That he cannot take advantage of a life with no consequences. That I
need to show him that "every action has an equal and opposite reaction."

I ask the white shade why it can't try to convince him itself, and it says that it's for a personal
reason. The white shade then says that it's not forcing me to do anything, that I have to want to do
the right thing of my own free will. I look down and begin to think about what the white shade is
saying and realize that there is a piece of paper before me. On it there is a small stamp that says
"Welcome to the rose city." Portland.

Right now it's two a.m. and I can't sleep. This happens every once in a while. So instead of sleeping
I find myself staring outside my window into a vision wrapped in street lights. A part of me
ponders the vast amount of dreams going on right now in the world, or at least on this side of the
world. Not three seconds later after the thought is born someone pulls into the parking lot.

After they park, and after one of the street lights cast a white light on the car, I can see the color of
the car and I realize that the owner of the car is Lynne. Where do people go at two a.m.? What do
they do?

I'd have to say about ten minutes have passed by and I'm still looking at this car and Lynne still has
not gotten out of it. Did I miss that part. I'm tired, but I don't think I did. Ten more minutes go by
and nothing has changed. Lynne is sitting in her car but I have no idea why. Is she asleep? Maybe
she's too tired to get out. Maybe she is thinking. Or, maybe it's not her.

Five minutes, and now I'm falling in and out of a daydream. In the daydream Lynne walks pass me
and she smiles along the way. I'm getting tired of seeing that damn smile. For a second I want to
punch her in the face in hopes of never having to see it again. When I realize I'm daydreaming,
after I find myself staring at the same car I've been watching for the past thirty minutes, I ask
myself if I'm bitter towards Lynne because I'm jealous of Silvio, or if it's because I'm angry at her
for being so stupid. For falling into a trap that is clearly labeled "Trap."

Now the car door finally opens, it's Lynne. She walks towards the building. That slight limp due to
a foot that has said goodbye. Before she enters the building, she admires her flowers. For the rest of
the night, I'm left thinking about why she could have possibly spent that much time in her car.