Death? Loneliness? Immortality?

No one's been to visit here,
It saddens me to say.
It's cold and lonely, truth to tell,
Sitting all alone each day.

So many claim to care, and yet
Not one has stopped to talk.
They gaze as they go by, and wave
But past me they all walk.

Not even slowing on their way -
They don't have time for that.
And I just sit and watch them pass
And wonder what they're looking at.

Surely something must be there -
There must be what to see.
Or could it possibly be true -
That they're all watching me?

It couldn't be, you see, because,
They just don't care enough
They're far too busy, all of them,
To see a diamond in the rough.

And what I am, for them to care?
What's special? What have I?
I sit alone, like every day,
And cry and cry and cry.

Fifty Word Fiction, Parts IX and X

All right, all right. I should just call this "Hundred Word Fiction". Maybe then I would move on to two hundred words a shot. But I find a certain challenge in making sure that every fifty words could, theoretically, stand alone. And since it seems no one's reading this, I can really do what I want. Including posting two sets of fifty words at once. So here they are.

She was afraid to go back to her apartment - afraid that she'd lose her nerve to just run away. There wasn't all that much there that she would miss. It might be nice to buy a whole new wardrobe. But a responsible adult has to remember things like turning off utilities.

She wanted to be impulsive this once. Treat herself royally. If she didn't do it, no one else was likely to. She didn't want to behave like a responsible adult. What would happen if she just left? Couldn't she call to turn off the utilities from wherever she ended up?

I've Written My Fifty Words for the Week

I just got so bored with homework that I wrote a letter for a professor. I should have written that letter a while ago. It's not all that good, but what do you expect from someone who thinks in terms of bearing stress and yield strength. At least I did it. Anyhow, someone else will read it and revise, so it should be okay. The Fifty Word story, on the other hand, is going nowhere.

I was going to write the fifty words continuation right now - really I was! - but I will again plead busyness and hope to have time tomorrow (ha, ha, ha!) or Thursday (more likely). I've been thinking about it, though, so there is hope. Maybe I'll do one hundred words, just to get things moving. I know y'all can't wait, so I humbly apologize for keeping you waiting.

Aw, who am I kidding? No one could care less about my story. Poor, illusion-blinded me.

Counting Stats

It dives and dips, an ocean wave
Hitting troughs and peaks,
Creating geometric curves
As days turn into weeks.

Watching graphs develop shape
Is only fun for engineers
Who take pleasure in the forms
Of numbers as they measure cares.

There is a music within math
As is in the written word
The artistry is to translate
Lines to lines which can be heard.