Short Stories

Pause

Pause

Overwhelmed by the drill, you find a quiet corner and scroll through your phone. Anything to numb your mind after a gruelling ordeal. Hooded eyes, slowed breathing, flicked fingers. Monotonous themes, flashing lights, screams, mumbles, clicks. You're not really paying attention anymore, just going through the motions; just as you were before turning on your phone.

Suddenly, your eyes flicker in realisation. This is boring. Mind-numbing as you wanted it to be but not nearly as satisfactory.

You switch off the device and stare ahead.

What? There was a painting? A masterpiece at that? Why didn't you notice before?

You examine it, absorbing the culmination of little imperfections forming this captivating scene of rolling hills and swaying petals. It's almost come to life!

You think of the time and effort given to this painting. The sketching, the colour mixing, the long hours, the visions that must have occurred during the process because nothing this good could be produced without inspiration, right?

Pacing to either side of the painting, trying to get a fresh perspective, you can't help but ponder on how lucky the painter must be to value something so greatly. How they could be so passionate about anything at all; so much so, in fact, they are willing to literally get down and dirty to produce anything they would even consider being proud of or show to anyone else. How can they express that much joy in anything at all?

Then you look inward, catching a glimpse of yourself in the glass protecting the piece. Is there anything you like doing to even a minor degree, anything that could produce as much as a fraction of the raw emotion coming from this painting alone? Is there anything you do in your own life that would make you feel alive? Not just existing in a mobile meatsack wearing bound threads?

You stiffen,inhaling deeply. There's no reason to start such a spiral, is there?

Phew.

You're certain you can answer a simple question.

If there was no such thing as social norm, no requirement to slave away your energetic years just to have enough energy to do it all again tomorrow, if there was nothing and no one forcing you to do anything, what would you do?

You still. It's blank. Your mind...is blank.

WHY??

You've finally removed the shackles from your brain, from your imagination and it's just standing there, staring at you blankly waiting for you to tell it what to do??

Are your inner hopes and dreams so thoroughly shattered that you can't even imagine what freedom would look like? No words to describe it, no colours to see it, no sound or scents or sensations to accompany it, just a void? A void of not having any fears driving you forward, no necessities to fulfil? Just darkness?

No aspirations?

Nothing you want?

Your eyes sink to the floor. You can't look at someone who has nothing they wanted to do outside of work, outside of school, outside that sport, that instrument. You couldn't even say you would break the limitations of the human body and learn to fly?

You just froze.

You scowl, turning on your heel and storming out the gallery, ignoring the other art pieces, the other tangible expressions of dreams, of desires of reaching for freedom.

You've never hated a place more. You hardly know where you are but rest assured, you're never coming back.

Reaching a cafe at the street corner, you stop, wondering what entertainment there is to distract you from further disappointment in yourself. You find a video, click it and listen. Drowning out the sounds of the world around you because what does that world have to offer other than rage and disappointment.