My "Novel" Continues...

Sorry I have neglected my blog for the past couple months.  My last days in Japan were a bit rough, and the transition from East to West was...interesting...

This would be chapter 2, part 2.  I wrote this back when I was still in Japan, so my mentality may have changed since then.  I think I will be surprised at what I read in it, as if it's the first time for me.  Oh, and the next sections will be shorter.

Vol. 1, Ch. 2, part ii

  At this point I know I'll never give up.  Still, I'm frustrated.  Angry.  I'm tired of conflict.  In fact, I don't even want to talk about conflict for a while.  You must be bored of it anyhow.  It does get boring.

  So, there I was.  Well, I really don't know where.  It was what one would expect from a wealthy, powerful organization utilizing fear tactics to reach it goals.  I sat in a medium sized room, with cold white walls and a grim charcoal border.  The ceiling had four rows of slightly stronger than standard fluorescent tubes, making the lighting in the room a mild irritant. (Yet, like a mosquito bitten sunburn, the vexations built on each other) The steel table painted black was accompanied by six foldable steel chairs, with a deep navy cushion.  My reaction to the"negotiation" was somewhere between a frown and callous disdain.  Or maybe those two fit together.  It was more like an interrogation room.

  The "negotiators" were stiff and shallow.  Not happy not sad, not anything.  They didn't have to be anything.  If the negotiators had any emotions, they were hidden behind their pathetic, wrinkled faces. Pathetic.


  Now, I'm letting my present attitude influence my perception of the past. It's a problem I have. This room was well hidden enough to make any conception of weather impossible; though, in that situation it was irrelevant to begin with. Why hide what they were doing? Any uprising from the public would be ineffective and temporary.  I suppose it was difficult to completely change the way they did things and the way they thought.

Stop.  No that's wrong.

  I feel like I just...I really...really want to look at something, but nothing in here satisfies me.  I can't find a single piece of stimulus that I'm able to focus on.  I'm going to do something in here.  I will.  It's like my fingernails are scraping over the top of the insignificant metal table, yet it's not enough.  It won't ruin it.  It won't make it end.

  Nothing happens.  I didn't do anything.  I sat.  Nothing.