YMIDEN 57, 723
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Kotton had always gotten angry when he accidentally dropped something, even more so if his metaphorical candle wick was already smoking; the embers only needing that additional breath of oxygen to really get his "pissed off-ness" going. But he never stopped to take a breath and clear his mind and wonder why. Why did simple mistakes infuriate him so much sometimes? Was it his perfectionism sprouting roots deeper than he could anticipate? He was usually a really inquisitive creature, so it was strange to him that it took him so long to realise that he needed to invest some time in finding an answer to this pesky question.
He stood in front of his ice box, holding an empty bottle of beer. His head was already buzzing. He could focus on the floor, the wall, and the ice box but when it came to whether the words he had just thought of if they could be spelled correctly even though they hadn't been written down? He was gone; the span of attention cut short by a pair of sharp scissors.
He could still think though. And about a lot of different things. Was it the alcohol that made him ponder? Probably- he tended to think about weird things when he wasn’t solely focused on the depravity of the human spirit and the drudges of constant melancholic routine. Or... life as some would call it. Even still, his mind was a capsule waiting to be filled with important information; grammar, spelling, logical appropriation and word position had no affect on the reign of terror that radiated from his skull when he was under the spell of one of his alcoholic friends. And tequila tended to be tremendous at creating error in Kotton's ways.
Kotton looked at the empty beer bottle in his hand; it was made from glass. His mouth was ajar; a dazed look glimmering in his eyes. Thoughts began to process, their tickets on the train of thought given to the ticket master at the front of the line. Inside that head of his? Numerous mental ramblings prepared themselves for a night of chaos.
Kotton's hand released, thereby dropping the glass bottle. Of course it shattered everywhere. But why? He may not know much about reality and the rules and laws determined to make sense of it, but he was no oaf. He knew of gravity, right? He knew things fell because things didn't just float up into the sky. At least not of their own accord; magic had to be a trusty associate to obtain such a preternatural feat. But he didn’t want to use magic. He wanted to learn and understand how things worked on their own.
He opened the icebox and grabbed another bottle of beer. It was a shame this one was full. Just glancing at the perspiration coating its amber bottle- he shook his head. In order to decrease the pain that sang in his heart, he opened the top and took a few hearty swigs. Afterward, he raised the bottle above his head and let it go.
He watched it drop, and it all seemed to happen as if in slow motion. He saw it fall during every nanosecond of time. Well, not really, but perspective had a funny way of doing things. He watched it make contact with the hardwood floor beneath his feet; he saw it splinter from a hairline fracture within the glass. And in the very next second, the fracture gave way to complete and total annihilation of the bottle.
Fragments of glass exploded at every angle, flinging themselves several metres in every direction. One shard of glass even came near splicing his cheek open; he prayed thankfully that it had missed. He couldn’t observe every fragment that had been deconstructed from the bottle, but he was able to get the gist of the process.
Gravity made it so he could maintain his footing on the ground; so he couldn’t levitate or fly or accidentally drift up into the stars glistening above. Gravity made it so things fell when they were dropped. Gravity made sure that objects made a journey vertically until meeting with a final, horizontal destination. His last thought made him wondered though. Was the time it took for a partially filled glass beer bottle to fall more or less than a feather?
He animatedly flung his index finger to the ceiling, announcing a new and wonderous idea. He rushed to his living room couch and picked up one of his many throw pillows. He unzipped the side and quickly began rummaging inside until he found what he was looking for. Victoriously, he flourished a small feather in his hand.
Because his area of experimentation was near the icebox in the kitchen, he made his way back there. Right above the mess of broken glass, he raised the hand that held the feather and let his grip on it slacken. The feather fell ever so gently, seeming to catch waves of air, oscillating from left to right, until it finally found its place with the rest of the mess on the kitchen floor.
The time it took the feather to fall was much longer than the beer bottle, empty or not. This, he deemed, was probably because it weighed less. Gravity, then, must be reliant upon how much something weighed. Heavy things must fall faster than lighter things. He hypothesised that if he were to drop himself from a similar height as the beer bottle and the feather, that he would fall faster than both because he was much heavier. He didn’t try it of course- he didn’t want to hurt himself. He still had to reach the level of mad scientist. Yet, his previous trials seemed reliable enough to create a reasonable conclusion.
Kotton paused momentarily to think over his recent proposition. He had tested one object with a theory that was well known- gravity. He had thus created his own scientific method, a systematic approach Worick had mentioned upon passing, something about how to conduct a sound experiment: He had asked a question- why did things fall? He had constructed a hypothesis: objects that were heavier fell at a greater speed than things that were lighter. He had tested that hypothesis by using two objects of different weights and noting the time it took for each of them to fall from the same height. He had then analysed the data he had received, which, in this case, proved his hypothesis. Ultimately, he had reached a conclusion: heavy objects like a glass bottle fell faster than lighter objects like a feather. The results really did align with his original hypothesis. Whether his experiment was an armature one at best, he didn’t care. His brain had conjured an idea, an idea he simulated with tangible items and those items gave way to a genuine resolution.
He was proud of himself.
He even gave himself a pat on the back.
Kotton’s lips made themselves into a smirk. If anyone had been watching him, he probably would have given off an aura of evil genuis-ness. Perhaps that was how these things started- someone came up with a rudimentary observation, one that gradually upgraded into full-blown experimentation, and before anyone knew it, end of the world systems were being created- okay, Kotton needed to calm down.
But fuck, the heap of trash he made simply by trying out a theory? All he could say was, "ugh."
He glanced down at the scattered pieces of broken glass and decided to... pick up the feather. Yes, he was great cleaning messes. If only that was where the task ended. He casually walked further into his kitchen to grab a towel. He'd have to use this to pick up the pieces of glass. He stooped to the havoc and counted as each and every visible sliver of glass was promptly placed into the towel. He had collected over fifty shards of glass before he needed to wipe his brow of sweat. Was science always this messy?
Once he had felt satisfied with his collection, he took a seat on the floor. A thought struck him then. If being under the influence of alcohol warped ones’ sense of memory, he needed to write his observations down before he forgot. He stood up quickly (almost too quickly what with the lightheadedness that accompanied his sudden change of elevation), tossing the towel full of glass onto a nearby counter. He bolted to the coffee table in his living room. There, sat his journal and pencil. He picked up both, manipulating the pencil into a comfortable position with one hand and flipping to a blank page with the other. Then, he began to scribble down what he had just witnessed- hypothesis, experiment, scientific process, result. Everything.
His mind was whirring at a million kilometres a minute; he wasn’t sure he was writing down everything he should be. He didn't fully know how the scientific method worked, or how experiments were supposed to go; all he knew was from hearsay mentioned from tangents of a random conversation. And it wasn't soon thereafter that his thoughts bombarded his attention with such ferocity that he needed to take a break. He had had only a few beers, but for some reason, it took him more energy than usual to recall the sequence of events that had just transpired.
The time he spent dwelling felt lengthy. It was the same as when he had watched the beer bottle fall to the floor. If time went by quicker whilst having fun, Kotton was most assuredly not having fun. Nevertheless, he had finally managed to formulate a coherent paragraph detailing all the most crucial parts. He was even able to re-read what he had written, as surprising as that was who really just wanted to pass out. He even felt content with his chicken-scratched comments, enough so to earn an audible chuckle.
Kotton sat back against the cushion of the couch, his eyes wandering to the window. The shades were pulled back and thankfully they had been, for through the window was a glamorous sun slowly dying. The sun was so dark- a deep crimson, with hints of fiery orange and accents of lemon yellow. Just observing the falling of the star made Kotton acquire a unique sense of inspiration.
He reopened his journal and began the writing process all over again. Whilst his pencil had quickly become dull, his mind was as sharp as ever (excluding the alcohol content). There, on the next blank page, right after his scientific proposition, he started to write about the colours and ambience that came through that very window pane. As the curtains wavered amidst the subtle movements from a nearby flux of air, they bore no adversary to his ultimate goal.
His hand quivered as he hastened the speed of his documentation of said beauty. His lips trembled; he licked them with the attempts of placation. Eventually, the flick of his wrist ceased, the curtains growing too close together to maintain an unhindered gaze.
It was amazing how quickly his focus could change- from scientific thought to poetic awareness. It was not foreseeable how irrevocably his attention to detail could capture physics, only to deter to the substance of appearance.
Kotton exhaled loudly, dropping his pencil, dropping the journal, and finding solace in the comfort of his head resting against the cushion of the couch.
He stood in front of his ice box, holding an empty bottle of beer. His head was already buzzing. He could focus on the floor, the wall, and the ice box but when it came to whether the words he had just thought of if they could be spelled correctly even though they hadn't been written down? He was gone; the span of attention cut short by a pair of sharp scissors.
He could still think though. And about a lot of different things. Was it the alcohol that made him ponder? Probably- he tended to think about weird things when he wasn’t solely focused on the depravity of the human spirit and the drudges of constant melancholic routine. Or... life as some would call it. Even still, his mind was a capsule waiting to be filled with important information; grammar, spelling, logical appropriation and word position had no affect on the reign of terror that radiated from his skull when he was under the spell of one of his alcoholic friends. And tequila tended to be tremendous at creating error in Kotton's ways.
Kotton looked at the empty beer bottle in his hand; it was made from glass. His mouth was ajar; a dazed look glimmering in his eyes. Thoughts began to process, their tickets on the train of thought given to the ticket master at the front of the line. Inside that head of his? Numerous mental ramblings prepared themselves for a night of chaos.
Kotton's hand released, thereby dropping the glass bottle. Of course it shattered everywhere. But why? He may not know much about reality and the rules and laws determined to make sense of it, but he was no oaf. He knew of gravity, right? He knew things fell because things didn't just float up into the sky. At least not of their own accord; magic had to be a trusty associate to obtain such a preternatural feat. But he didn’t want to use magic. He wanted to learn and understand how things worked on their own.
He opened the icebox and grabbed another bottle of beer. It was a shame this one was full. Just glancing at the perspiration coating its amber bottle- he shook his head. In order to decrease the pain that sang in his heart, he opened the top and took a few hearty swigs. Afterward, he raised the bottle above his head and let it go.
He watched it drop, and it all seemed to happen as if in slow motion. He saw it fall during every nanosecond of time. Well, not really, but perspective had a funny way of doing things. He watched it make contact with the hardwood floor beneath his feet; he saw it splinter from a hairline fracture within the glass. And in the very next second, the fracture gave way to complete and total annihilation of the bottle.
Fragments of glass exploded at every angle, flinging themselves several metres in every direction. One shard of glass even came near splicing his cheek open; he prayed thankfully that it had missed. He couldn’t observe every fragment that had been deconstructed from the bottle, but he was able to get the gist of the process.
Gravity made it so he could maintain his footing on the ground; so he couldn’t levitate or fly or accidentally drift up into the stars glistening above. Gravity made it so things fell when they were dropped. Gravity made sure that objects made a journey vertically until meeting with a final, horizontal destination. His last thought made him wondered though. Was the time it took for a partially filled glass beer bottle to fall more or less than a feather?
He animatedly flung his index finger to the ceiling, announcing a new and wonderous idea. He rushed to his living room couch and picked up one of his many throw pillows. He unzipped the side and quickly began rummaging inside until he found what he was looking for. Victoriously, he flourished a small feather in his hand.
Because his area of experimentation was near the icebox in the kitchen, he made his way back there. Right above the mess of broken glass, he raised the hand that held the feather and let his grip on it slacken. The feather fell ever so gently, seeming to catch waves of air, oscillating from left to right, until it finally found its place with the rest of the mess on the kitchen floor.
The time it took the feather to fall was much longer than the beer bottle, empty or not. This, he deemed, was probably because it weighed less. Gravity, then, must be reliant upon how much something weighed. Heavy things must fall faster than lighter things. He hypothesised that if he were to drop himself from a similar height as the beer bottle and the feather, that he would fall faster than both because he was much heavier. He didn’t try it of course- he didn’t want to hurt himself. He still had to reach the level of mad scientist. Yet, his previous trials seemed reliable enough to create a reasonable conclusion.
Kotton paused momentarily to think over his recent proposition. He had tested one object with a theory that was well known- gravity. He had thus created his own scientific method, a systematic approach Worick had mentioned upon passing, something about how to conduct a sound experiment: He had asked a question- why did things fall? He had constructed a hypothesis: objects that were heavier fell at a greater speed than things that were lighter. He had tested that hypothesis by using two objects of different weights and noting the time it took for each of them to fall from the same height. He had then analysed the data he had received, which, in this case, proved his hypothesis. Ultimately, he had reached a conclusion: heavy objects like a glass bottle fell faster than lighter objects like a feather. The results really did align with his original hypothesis. Whether his experiment was an armature one at best, he didn’t care. His brain had conjured an idea, an idea he simulated with tangible items and those items gave way to a genuine resolution.
He was proud of himself.
He even gave himself a pat on the back.
Kotton’s lips made themselves into a smirk. If anyone had been watching him, he probably would have given off an aura of evil genuis-ness. Perhaps that was how these things started- someone came up with a rudimentary observation, one that gradually upgraded into full-blown experimentation, and before anyone knew it, end of the world systems were being created- okay, Kotton needed to calm down.
But fuck, the heap of trash he made simply by trying out a theory? All he could say was, "ugh."
He glanced down at the scattered pieces of broken glass and decided to... pick up the feather. Yes, he was great cleaning messes. If only that was where the task ended. He casually walked further into his kitchen to grab a towel. He'd have to use this to pick up the pieces of glass. He stooped to the havoc and counted as each and every visible sliver of glass was promptly placed into the towel. He had collected over fifty shards of glass before he needed to wipe his brow of sweat. Was science always this messy?
Once he had felt satisfied with his collection, he took a seat on the floor. A thought struck him then. If being under the influence of alcohol warped ones’ sense of memory, he needed to write his observations down before he forgot. He stood up quickly (almost too quickly what with the lightheadedness that accompanied his sudden change of elevation), tossing the towel full of glass onto a nearby counter. He bolted to the coffee table in his living room. There, sat his journal and pencil. He picked up both, manipulating the pencil into a comfortable position with one hand and flipping to a blank page with the other. Then, he began to scribble down what he had just witnessed- hypothesis, experiment, scientific process, result. Everything.
His mind was whirring at a million kilometres a minute; he wasn’t sure he was writing down everything he should be. He didn't fully know how the scientific method worked, or how experiments were supposed to go; all he knew was from hearsay mentioned from tangents of a random conversation. And it wasn't soon thereafter that his thoughts bombarded his attention with such ferocity that he needed to take a break. He had had only a few beers, but for some reason, it took him more energy than usual to recall the sequence of events that had just transpired.
The time he spent dwelling felt lengthy. It was the same as when he had watched the beer bottle fall to the floor. If time went by quicker whilst having fun, Kotton was most assuredly not having fun. Nevertheless, he had finally managed to formulate a coherent paragraph detailing all the most crucial parts. He was even able to re-read what he had written, as surprising as that was who really just wanted to pass out. He even felt content with his chicken-scratched comments, enough so to earn an audible chuckle.
Kotton sat back against the cushion of the couch, his eyes wandering to the window. The shades were pulled back and thankfully they had been, for through the window was a glamorous sun slowly dying. The sun was so dark- a deep crimson, with hints of fiery orange and accents of lemon yellow. Just observing the falling of the star made Kotton acquire a unique sense of inspiration.
He reopened his journal and began the writing process all over again. Whilst his pencil had quickly become dull, his mind was as sharp as ever (excluding the alcohol content). There, on the next blank page, right after his scientific proposition, he started to write about the colours and ambience that came through that very window pane. As the curtains wavered amidst the subtle movements from a nearby flux of air, they bore no adversary to his ultimate goal.
His hand quivered as he hastened the speed of his documentation of said beauty. His lips trembled; he licked them with the attempts of placation. Eventually, the flick of his wrist ceased, the curtains growing too close together to maintain an unhindered gaze.
It was amazing how quickly his focus could change- from scientific thought to poetic awareness. It was not foreseeable how irrevocably his attention to detail could capture physics, only to deter to the substance of appearance.
Kotton exhaled loudly, dropping his pencil, dropping the journal, and finding solace in the comfort of his head resting against the cushion of the couch.
