It is 12:00 a.m. as I write this.
First of all, I would like everyone to know that I saw a talking sheep today, and second, I would like everyone to know that I listened to what it had to say.
I woke up late this morning and hesitated to dress myself as I prepared for my shift that would start in the next 20 minutes.

I shut my eyes hard and reopened them a split second afterwards, making myself believe that I was more awake now. I knew I wasn‘t but it worked well enough to get me in my car. Why? I wouldn’t know.. I would assume it’s a psychological thing. As I drove in my hand-me-down of a car, I kept glancing at the “check your engine” sign to the side of my gas gauge... Or whatever it’s called.

“Stupid car,” I uttered, for I had already checked the engines. Twelve times to be exact.. And the mechanic would always say the same thing, over and over again. “Your car is fine.” I, of course, trusted the mechanic’s word better than my car’s. Big mistake.

I had my eyes slightly droopy and had the most bored expression glued on my face at the time. Seconds later that expression ripped off my skin and instead gave me the most ridiculous looking face I could ever imagine. All when I reached a red light and realized that my breaks weren’t working anymore.

Now, if you’re very speculative you would have noticed that the engine really doesn’t have anything to do with the breaks. But hey, you would have blamed it on the engine too if you were in my situation. So, here’s where I get descriptive… The flashing lights of other cars rapidly zoomed right past me, and my burning coffee spilled over my brand new khaki pants. My heart gasped as I turned the wheel sideways like a madman, too surprised to think of removing my foot off the gas. Beep after beep, only in a matter of chaotic seconds, my car and I took an unpleasant stroll down a hill which led to a small forest covered in dull trees.

I lost rationality for about 2 minutes and found myself, and my car, at a stop. I pushed the crammed door open with my leg and hopped out, landing in a grassy floor with dead leaves crumbling from the pressure of my body. I quickly looked to the right and realized that I had crashed into one of the trees, which had opened my poorly closed trunk at Impact.

“no, no, no, no!” I yelled as I circled around the only vehicle that I could ever afford. I could barely look at the broken windows and the crumbled frontal area that seemed to have soaked itself into the tree. By the third cycle that I had made, I stopped in front of my forcefully opened trunk and noticed something very peculiar.

There was a sheep lying in there. “There’s a sheep in my trunk.” I said in a monotone voice, as I began to think that this was a high jinks accomplished by either one of my coworkers or my O’ so clever cousin Steve. At first, I assumed it had died from suffocation, or from the impact of the crash, which wasn’t that big to begin with. But it opened one of its eyes as I reached forward to poke it.

“Um... Hi.” I said to the sheep, as I began to calm down. At the moment, everything seemed so peculiar that It didn’t seem strange to greet a completely random farm animal, it was actually kind of relaxing to feel the company of another living, breathing mammal.

Though what did seem kind of strange was the part where is it said “oh, hello.” to me back. My eyes widened, I can say that, but that’s all I found myself doing. Its wool was plenty real; dirty but glossy, and its size was just barely small enough to fit in a medium size trunk. Slightly moving its mouth, It spoke, breaking the awkward silence that I had set. “Not much of a creative tongue on you, correct?”

I stuttered a bit, and yanked some sentences out of my mouth, overcoming my statue state. “uh.. No, no, I can talk, I can talk.” I then turned my terror into comfort, and asked... “I know you’re probably expecting this question but, what are you?”
“Me?” the sheep began its response “Well, I am a poet, from the rivers of observation; a philosopher you may say at times.”
“A poet?” I began again. “I would have never thought of it... Well especially since I would never be able to guess how you get things down on paper, since... Well, you know.”
“A brilliant writer need not hands to write, but a mind to think.”
“Oh” I bluntly said, embarrassed of my comment.
“Well, can I ask how you got into my trunk?”
“If you are hoping that I descriptively tell you how I climbed into your car’s rear, then I shall not puzzle you with unnecessary adjectives. I shall not speak of how vivid it was setting my hoofs onto the trunk door, or how vivid I felt climbing in, or how vivid the word ‘vivid’ is.”
“I was just wondering, I mean it‘s completely out of nowhere.”
“It is best that you never know.”
“Well, can I at least know the purpose of all of this?”
“Your eyes.”
“My eyes?”
“Yes.”
“…What about them?”

“They are lifeless. And I am here to undo the paradox of a living body with a lifeless soul.”
I at this point felt a bit annoyed, and had quite an urge to ditch this strange talking animal before I got lost in It’s sophisticated words. But, that urge wasn’t as strong as the urge to rid myself of the melancholy. So I began to ventilate. And don’t get me wrong, I was really stubborn when it came to therapy, but I was talking to fluffy farm animal, so humiliation wasn’t much of a factor anymore.

I gave a deep sigh and spoke slowly. “You can’t blame me, I’ve lost so much...”
The sheep glared a bit and gave a gesture that told me to continue speaking. So I did.
The conversation between it and me continued on to introductions. I told it about my father; I told it about my fiancé. I told it about how a simple addiction tumbled both of them down. And I told it how the broken shattered into more pieces, and were taken to the scrap field.

My tongue eventually gave every detail... Spoke of the haunting affair that I had learned of, spoke of the empty feeling of a fallen guardian, spoke of the hatred and anger left in every corner in my conscience. And the left over feeling of injustice.
“I’ve lost my reason to trust, I’ve lost it.” I said as I looked at my coffee drenched khaki pants.
“Like a stain, isn’t it?” said the sheep.
“Huh?” I replied.
“Your clothes.. They are so fragile, they are so easily marked...and are stained with an irremovable spill.”
“Are you saying I’m like pants?”
“I’m saying you are like coffee, coffee in a coffee cup, your clothes are just merely rebuildable buildings, that you yourself built.”
“How do I build a building without the coffee in my cup then? Where is my motivation? where is my spark!?”
“It lies past those words.”
I quickly looked down, and pulled my hair back. I glared at the crumble dead leaves, and remain in that position for half a minute.
Still facing to the floor, I once again utter “It just gets difficult, Mr. Sheep, It just gets difficult.”


I wait for a couple of seconds, anticipating a clever response, but it does not come. I quickly raise my head once again in confusion, and I see only my trashcan of a car.

I then quickly rush to speculate the area. The sheep is no longer there. I tighten my mouth, and I take into consideration the possibility it was all just my imagination. But I argued otherwise. I took slow steps up the hill, and soon began to sprint home.

It is 12:55 a.m. now, and I am almost finished writing. I have the most peculiar feeling that I have ever had. I’ve already changed into a clean pair of pants, and I’ve already written what I had to write, what I have to do now is the hard part... No, what I have to do now is the most important part, what I’m going to do now is to pull the blinds over the window, and look past them.

But first, I think I’ll pour myself a cup of coffee.