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the name is dalton



He had trouble contemplating how people, places and things continued to exist long after he finished with them. He used to have a theory that things remained frozen until he touched or thought about them, his friends used to laugh.


“So you think we just sit until we are activated by your movements like robots.”


“Yes,” he told them “yes I do.”


Most attributed his peculiar outlook as pure ego and nothing else. Others ignored him and some wanted to study and find out his methods; how did he manage to keep moving while those around him stayed still?


All of this was just a theory, nothing could be certain not at this stage. Some waited and hoped that their minds would catch up to his by laws of evolution.


Maybe proper breeding, good diet and exercise would bring them the world in small doses, enough to kill small horses but not enough to stop the earth spinning on its axis. Those who put his ideas on pedestals never once questioned whether there was any possibility at all of this just being a man’s idea of a practical joke. After all, they moved when he was not there and so forth.


Their answer to such inquiries amounted to infinite variations of a phrase.


“He is always thinking of us.”


This was a hard idea to dismiss. There was no way of checking the arguments. Either the man was clearly insane or he did possess powers. Perhaps he thought of everybody and everything all the time.


The day broke; most of mankind was in his thoughts and thus moved about. The ones not lucky enough to warrant his attention sat in silence by the telephone.


THE NAME IS DALTON is the pseudynom of  a punk rock bass player. He tells us that, "The things that come out of the typer are inspired by drink induced conversations with friends."   Visit him here:

His motivation for this piece remains his secret.