I like me some silly Dusk.

[keyk]

Here was silence mixed with a teaspoon of thought and a pinch of boredom. Well. The more thought that was added to the mix the more boredom accumulated. So let's make that a pint of boredom instead. After all, that was the minimum requirement, as stated in his recipe, for one very exasperated Dusk Takbram.

"I'm bored!" he said, exactly as it were. For effect, he tossed The Great Gatsby aside, which he had read for just about the fifteenth time. In retrospect, it probably wasn't done out of effect but more as your typical young adult tantrum. He was almost unspeakably bored, but only almost because he did indeed speak about it. He did a wobbly twirl on his wobbly computer chair (it was missing quite a few screws, you see) and hopped to a not-so-wobbly stand. He reached to push off his unkempt bangs from clinging to his forehead (except they already had, much to his chagrin) and it was only then our little dimwit finally noticed that he was sweating from the heat. Now I can break this silence! he thought to himself, and he switched on his rickety old fan. Note that he was being very sarcastic when he thought that, for the sound of a rickety old fan is far from pleasing to the ear.

Usually, when Dusk inadvertently completes his recipe for boredom, he would pick up his violin, or, as he prefers to call it--she, Sally, and fiddle away. It pains us to say that he was quite good at it. But luckily, his luck has run out today. You see, the heat ruined the plastic that held her strings down, and so, to put it simply, the violin was in pieces. Not beyond repair, but beyond repair for one lazy Dusk. For today and today only (or so Dusk thinks), Sally was not worth the time and money. One of these days, thought our currently lazy Dusk, I'll be a luthier myself! It'll be another good way to somehow pay the bills.

The violin wasn't the only thing in shambles (a touch overdoing it in description, but moving on) as his room was almost always in that state. The furniture was usually intact (minus, of course, the aforementioned chair), but everywhere were boxes of mementos and boxes of papers and sheets of papers and pens and pencils and the occasional skitty spider sprawled about his floor. It was quite a mess to behold, but as our lazy Dusk argues, it deters robbers from successfully breaking in. As a sidenote, Dusk stubs his toes almost every week in this room. We wonder what condition they're in by now.

So what exactly should Dusk do to counteract his problem, you ask? First, Dusk thought food. Unfortunately, the next meal was dinner and Dusk wasn't very fond of eating any meal outside of breakfast (he was a boring person who wasn't fond of snack time either) so he wasn't going to resort to that. And as we already said, Sally was out of commission at the moment. Tea or coffee was also a possibility, but we must stress that Dusk was feeling very lazy today and didn't want to bother leaving his room. He blames it on the heat. The list could go on, but an ending must soon be churned out.

For you see, when Dusk is extremely bored, he finds it fun to write about himself in third person and jab at himself like a ma--that colorful word. So here's your extremely self-conscious piece of literature, you postmodern freaks! Oh, but a writer writing about himself! That means a me exists in two different dimensions...

Ah, yes, Dusk could occupy himself with this for quite awhile.