The following short story involved experimenting with stream of thought style writing. Also, Lost in Translation is my favorite movie ever. Enjoy the creative writing!

I’m just going to let these words fall out of my mouth. Nothing to hold back. Or at least I don’t think I have anything to hold back. Let me start off by saying I’m not crazy, so if I say some crazy, straight-up manic shit, don’t you go calling the police or something like that. I’m being honest and I want someone to listen. Will you do that? Well I can’t hear you anyhow so I’m going to assume you will. But before I do, you gotta promise not to tell anyone. Not even that asshole friend of yours who you tell every god-damned secret to. If you tell him or her I promise I will hunt them down and torment the shit out of them until they fucking forget their own name. This is between you and me only. You got it? You better. Because I’m about to start and I don’t like being interrupted. So here we go.

One of my favorite movies is Lost in Translation. Ever heard of it? If you have you probably think it’s a shitty romance movie, or that it’s boring as hell. If you’re either of those people then go fuck yourself. Anyhow, I’ll tell you about it. So here are these two people traveling to Japan, both Americans, and they each have a pretty shitty life. One of them is this really hot dame married to a sleazeball photographer that doesn’t give a rat’s ass about her. Or at least I don’t think he does. But that’s beside the point. She’s staying at a sweet-ass hotel while her sleazeball hubby is out working, so of course she gets bored as hell. How someone gets bored in a swanky hotel in fucking Japan is beyond me, but I went with it. She ends up running into a guy named Bill or whatever, who is this kind-of-old-kind-of-creepy fella who used to be a big movie star, but now he’s old as hell and retired so he makes lame ass commercials. Turns out he’s in Japan for some advertising deal and, of course, his marriage is shitty as hell too. But that’s enough background. What ends up happening is these two people make a real connection. And I don’t mean a connection in the sense that these fucking romance films nowadays show. I mean these two are fucking soul-mates. They share about their shitty lives with each other, talk about their fears and aspirations, talk about eloping–though I think she was joking about that because, I mean, she’s hot and he’s old as hell, but hey it’s still worth mentioning.

Now I bet you’re asking, what’s the fucking point of this sappy shit? Well just shut the fuck up and let me get to it. The two of them can only be together for a few days before they’ve got to move on with the shit they’re already involved with. And that’s how it ends. The two of them go their separate ways.

That fucking pissed the shit out of me. I literally wanted to punch my goddamn hand through the tv set but it’s not even my own fucking tv and I’m not paying for that shit. I’m not one of those people who just go around and start breaking expensive shit when they get mad. I fucking hate when people do that. How about you just go out and kick someone’s ass instead? At least they probably deserve it. But a fucking tv? What the fuck is a broken tv gonna do besides make your fucking hand bleed and leave you bored as fuck?

Now let me get to my point already, which is this: what kind of fucked up world do we live in where people can’t find a connection to anyone? Just fucking think about that for a moment. And don’t think I’m one of those lonely assholes who don’t have any friends because they’re fucking weird or look like some horse trampled over their ugly ass face. I’m a fucking good guy with some fucking good friends. But even then, sometimes I wonder if I really know them.

Most of the time I talk with my friends it’s about dumb shit. Classes I hate, classes I like, someone that fucking pissed me off that day, working out, the shitty weather in Chicago… you know, the kind of shit that you’ll forget you even said a couple hours later. And then when I think about it, that’s the same kind of shit I did in high school. All I did was whine, goof off, or talk about shit I didn’t really care about with my buds back then. And you know what? I hardly talk to any of those assholes anymore. And you know what else? I realize I never fucking cared about them anyway. They were just people who were around me a lot so I just fucking talked to them.

I’m going to graduate this June and be done with college. There are things I’ll miss but there’s definitely a lot of shit I won’t. Don’t even get me started on that. I’m gonna try to stay on point because I gotta go soon anyway. One of my friends wants to play Call of Duty and I need to fucking beat him after the cheap shot he got on me last game.

So what am I fucking trying to say? Well if I had the words I’d say it. All these things are coming out of my mouth except for the one goddamn point I’m really trying to make. Alright, I guess it’s this: I’m tired of this stupid shit. I’m tired of the shitty conversations and the shitty people. I don’t want to turn into that kind-of-old-kind-of-creepy fella in the movie with a shitty marriage who has a little fling with a young hot chick he can never be with. I want to find that fucking connection now.

But here’s the worst goddamn part of the movie. I forgot to mention it because you wouldn’t shut the fuck up and let me keep talking about it. The whole fucking time during the goddamn movie, their time together and the real connection they made was completely by chance. If either of them had went to Japan a few days sooner or later they would have never met. Isn’t that fucked up? I mean, I take that as meaning the only times we’ll find that person who we connect with, who isn’t a shitty asshole like everyone else, is by chance.

That’s depressing as hell.

Anyway, I gotta go play Call of Duty now. Tom is gonna kick my ass if I keep typing on this huge ass computer.

Now don’t you fucking forget what I said. If you tell anyone about what I said I’ll make you wish you could climb back into your mom’s old fucking womb and hide there. This is between you and me only. You got it? You better.

THE END

A Stream of Thought Short Story: Lost In Connection