Choked up on the Great Plains

Note: Here's a snippet of something I'm working on that didn't end up going anywhere. In trying to forge a novel together, I end up going to places that end right there at the end of the scene, the following are some of the results.


Whether it was the sun choking his thoughts, or not, he was unsure, but the azure skies didn’t hit him the way it used to, and the plains reflected a strange undercurrent, an energy that would leap up towards the pit of his stomach at odd intervals.

Instead of waking at dawn, he would sleep in for as long as his back could stand it, and he wasn’t bound up with the same energy anymore, the rubber band that controlled his behavior had retired, and now he was slithering all over the place. Unemployment was liberating, as he still had a few options to settle into, future skins to select, but recently he felt all that leave his system, like a fever the depression came, the sadness in everyday objects, no longer exalted by sunsets or the sight of the plains at daybreak.