There was something undeniably ridiculous about the idea of living, Claire had always thought. Sure, on the face of it, life seems fine. You get up, you do your thing, and then you go to sleep. By and large there was nothing to complain about, save for the few souls who needed saving, but still... To Claire life was nothing more than an immovable, unshakeable object in the way of true honest-to-goodness freedom. The sublime bliss of un-being.
Now, you might call Claire crazy- you'd be very much encouraged to, in fact- but calling names doesn't change the fact that she existed. If it did, Claire would have been reduced to her base atoms about three days after she learnt how to talk and began to lecture other children on how they had no right to be alive. No, Claire made herself heard in a big way. A catastrophically destructive, Earth shaking, society re-shaping, Weapon of Mass Destruction way.
Well, that's all over and done with now. They say Claire's dead. She is, physically. But she left a legacy, undeniably. Claire exists in every politician's slip of the tongue, every shaky image of a mushroom cloud, every ounce of destruction on this Earth. You can't escape her.
Why am I telling you this? I don't know. Nostalgia, I suppose. I used to love Claire, you see, but it was a painful, soul sucking love; the kind of love that's so close to hate it killed me. We're all dead here.
YOU ARE READING
25 minutes, 250 words
Short Story"There was something undeniably ridiculous about the idea of living, Claire had always thought" A 250 word monologue- type thing written and (barely) edited in, you guessed it, 25 minutes.
