we find ourselves in a small room on the third floor of a house in Jena-Ost. the bed is almost neatly made with a blanket and little white bear halfway tucked between the blanket and the pillow. a thin sweater sits on the stool just behind the open door. the radiator bubbles away slightly. air has gathered in the pipes and needs to be let out. a few books, some partially read, others never really opened yet are perched upon the windowsill looking out to the world.
the hour is just past one in the afternoon. the house is quiet save for the preparation of lunch down in the kitchen.
jacob tosses his backpack onto the bed and reaches for his computer.
he stops, and looks out the window.
why haven't i read those books yet, he thinks to himself.
i want some candy, he thinks again, as he reaches over the frame of the bed to the shelf finding a simple, blue wrapped treat. peanuts, caramel, and chocolate. delicious.
what do i want with this life, jacob thinks.
i can't believe i don't think about this more. but i do. i think about it a lot. i think about it all the time. but i never find my answers. but i do. i find them a lot. i find my answers all the time. but i never follow them.
jacob is met with this truth rather aggressively. maybe i should eat some more candy, he thinks. maybe i should not have candy, he thinks again.
maybe i should write down my answers, that could help me follow them, but he knows this is not true.
in a few days, jacob will read an idea about being in reality weaker than one thinks one is, and he will begin to wonder.
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