What a beautiful day it is to be alive; to bask in the heat and glory of the sun. How I missed this feeling; how fun it's been. I really can't tell the last time I've seen that giant ball of fire. How long has it been? I don't know; but I'm just glad I could see it again. If only for a brief moment; I am dead.
Everyday is a repeat of yesterday, am I even a person at this point? Or am I just another component in the factory that is this world and forever hid in the caverns of "Productivity" and being "Essential" my thoughts of rebellion muffled by the noises of gears turning, never needing oil so it goes non-stop. I'd wake up to an everlasting list of chores, a list of responsibilities pushed down my throat and try as I might to get away with it. . . I just can't. I've been chest deep in this quicksand of a predicament that I doubt if anyone would be lending a hand to reach out for me, I wouldn't be able to grab it at all. I am scared of forever being a tool never having something that makes me, me. With the world all the fucking same, what am I but another prototype? Just another sample gathering dust and rusting at a shelf far from someone's reach. I hated the fact that I realized what was happening. I don't like the feeling that I had caused this upon myself simply because I've known. I understood it and I am suffering because of it. Should I have not think then? Ever in the shadows my thoughts never lingering; I myself continue to play pretend? My life would be so much better if I'd just kept myself in the dark. Enjoy this facade of this "life" and smile even if it's a shallow one, but that would be something I'd regret and to me nothing more is worse than regret. I am miserable; I deserve it here I thought, I am ready to give up if I'm being honest. Submit myself to this "Life" and wait till the day I die I guess, never becoming me.
That's when I see it again, the sun. It's warm and gentle, hot but not in the least searing. To bathe in it would be extremely something. I bet I can even feel alive. What a silly notion, me alive right? The height of hilarity yes, but just like Pandora's Box, Hope remains, however so meagre. Hope remains and it is strong; far more forminable than all it's nemesis' combined, and right now I am clinging to it. I am desperately holding onto it tight, never wanting to get off. But even hope has it's limitations. As it is now, alone it can't do a thing. Hope cannot save me. Only I with it's help can. Like a farmer who couldn't get by without a horse, or a miner trapped with only a pickaxe searching for a way out must too with hope climb out of this quicksand, this rabbithole of nothing but the same thing over and over again and once again grip my sword and live, this time truly.
YOU ARE READING
Brevis tabulatorum
Short StoryA string of short stories. To where do they lead? Are they even leading somewhere? What does each mean? Are they fooling you now? One can only find out, *wink
