𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘𝗩𝗢𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 | 𝖳𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖶𝗈𝗅𝖿

𝟬𝟭, fatalism vs volition

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗢𝗡𝗘
─ 𖦹 ─

     FATALISM VS VOLITION; Are we preordained to a certain road and/or destination? Or are we free to determine our own paths in life? Honestly, if some grand omnipotent power predetermined that my path of life would result in waking up in my car every day ─ I'd seriously question the cosmic reasonings of my fucking back pain. A black 1966 Ford Mustang isn't a particularly comfortable bed substitution.

Blinding sun bleeding through the windows of the car acted as an irritable replacement of an alarm clock as I blinked awake. An Aristotle book slid carelessly from my chest to the floor, stretching in exhaustion. It wasn't like I needed a bookmark ─ I could practically recite each page by memory. There's not much excitement in Beacon Hills. So resorting to books for stimulation and prevention of insanity was really all I occupied myself with. Kicking the agonisingly thin blanket from my body, I rummaged into my tattered bag for essentials ─ the time on my phone reading 6.08AM.

Dishevelled hair haphazardly tied up, rebellious strands departing from any presentability, I opened the door and dragged on my boots. I didn't bother with the laces, remaining in the clothes I slept in and hoisting my bag over my back habitually. As my footsteps carried me to my destination, I pondered over the concept of fatalism. It was understandably comforting to the comforted, able to embrace what's not within their control. And potentially hope-inspiring for the strugglers to believe in the notion that your predetermined path will guide you through the minefields whether you die or not. The fact of the matter being that despite your choices you will end up where the universe wants you to be.

Free will, however, presents uncertainty of the future and your path, but at least it's yours to control. Choices made determine the direction of life you end up in ─ the road having numerous destinations and pathways. This way, wandering the minefield is less driven by another being ( fate ), but rather your own footsteps. Though, that does arise the position that mistakes are an individual's fault, rather than a lesson constructed by fate in an attempt to guide you where you're meant to be.

I was never entirely sure what to believe ─ fate or free will. The universe doesn't care about the insignificant ants living on one of the infinite numbers of floating rocks in the black, vast empty ─ whether it was the universe's job to choose a fate for someone, or it was entirely our choice. I think it wouldn't care either way. If it did, I wouldn't be walking into school before anyone had arrived in order to use their facilities like a home.

Footsteps echoing, I wandered to the bathroom and collected my toothbrush ( pink with cartoon petals ─ the cheapest I could find ) from my backpack. I performed all your usual morning routines, but within the walls of school ─ which, if you think about it, is akin to living in a mansion. If the aforementioned mansion was additionally used by over a thousand other people, belonged to the town, and consistently reeked with the odour of pubescent boys that lacked intelligence to understand the vitality of deodorant. One man's trash is another man's treasure, I guess.

I'd been performing this 'hoboic' ritual for a while now, and with time, parts of me intertwined into the lifestyle. I appreciated the luxuries. Vast empty hallways so vacant of life, dichotomous to the boisterousness of the day, I would often explore every corner of the school throughout the night, reading the graffiti littering the walls of the bathroom and gum infused with love professions under the stands. You could read a lot of secrets around that school.

I'd learned most classmates' names through the individual stories told in various penmanship across the building. Jasmine and Summer were no longer friends. Kyle and Danny broke up. Anderson slept with Carla while she was with Ben. Though, according to the walls, I was a 'loonatic hore bitch', so who knows what's true?