short stories with tragic endings

There Is No Truth, There Is Only You

Thinking about the day, finding any reason to escape; and maybe it is all just fate. But the expression on our face is killing us at such a rate, and not a second too late. Swallow the pain and quietly put it away. As our thoughts get rearranged, and we slip back into our cage - sulking, and full of rage. We think we know it the more we are stoned, and it is all just a joke. As we learn it is a hoax, we open our eyes.

Such a stupid place - where one human controls another. No one is quite sure what the hell is going on here; nor does a person know what is happening to the human race. We are all created equal. It is written in the Constitution, but no one really cares to listen; Darwinism seems to make much more sense. It seems to fit whatever the solution, and it is taking our place. Reason weeds out consciousness - now vacant and sucked dry, then replaced with nothingness. Life revolves around science; yet we cannot explain why. Still, the mystery remains of what happens when we die, or even what our purpose was. But we feel something, because we feel love. They will always try to control, mute, and dilute - but they can never take away one's soul.

The words have already been stated before: life is impossible without a purpose - this holds true evermore; and it can be seen, in an adventure by Voltaire, entitled Candide. A young man is Candide - who is fair, and full of love and play. Also, the very ignorant Pangloss - viewing the world in a puerility sort of way. They both lived in paradise, until one day Candide kisses the daughter of the baron. Now sent to live with the parasites, but at least he avoids the slaughter (Voltaire 455). In a forest of uncertainty, Pangloss' words echo with clarity. Even in the face of slavery, Candide does not see death as misery. He drinks the drink of piracy, but not for himself, he does it only for someone else (Voltaire 456). Because when one is confused about love, one is anesthetized to all other emotions and feelings. The sure perplexity of love overwhelms and one forgets to live. Able to commit murders and killings, - Pangloss' words will sure be the death of him.

Candide endures so much in his struggle. Hoping to find purpose - his spiritual enlightenment. What he finds is less permanent, so he better grab a shovel; his time is spent. Destroyed, he falls. Falling down a hole - insecure and hopeless. Here he goes. If one falls from this world, one will never get back. It holds one down - this ground, it is cold, and alone. Just as we all will be, in the ground, cold and alone. Never to hear the sound. Soft words, spoken softly in the mists of time. They echo only in memories, and this is all that remains for Candide. Only now does he view the world with clarity, from his third eye rather than someone else's eye. Only after the hardships, Candide concludes Pangloss was full of bullshit. Confessing optimism is a mania, only for the unreasonable (Voltaire 485). And that the cornea views all of the probable. The truth is, we are all the same, and only preceding his epiphany does Candide know his name. With this, he knows his purpose.

Poor Evgeny, in "The Bronze Horseman", is just an everyday nobody, living under supreme suppression of the Russians. So it is this that keeps him awake at night, death is not his biggest fright; but money, money, money and the suppression (Pushkin 234). We are all human by definition, and we all need love. This is because animals are not us, and this is not how we should react. It is nothing which we lack, and not even the greatest nation can defeat the facts. Not even the greatest statue can withstand the rain nor the wind. Poor Evgeny, as miniscule as he is, and it is hard to comprehend, but his heart stands tall - taller than that broken wall. His love for Parasha reaches further than any sea (Pushkin 236). Suppressed, yes, but love is something that must be. For without love there is no purpose, and without purpose there is no life. There would be only strife, and absolutely no hope for us.

By the graciousness of a Godsend, Evgeny views the island by the boat of a fisherman. Looking for signs, any clue of Parasha. There is nothing to find, and he lets out a guffaw (Pushkin 237-38). He stares at himself, with his thoughts in his head. According to them, he is crazy; and he thinks he has lost touch with everyone else, including himself, and a little with reality. Cursing the city and losing his spirituality, he is chased for eternity. Until he is with Parasha - physically and hopefully spiritually, but at the bottom of the sea both Evgeny and Parasha leave their human body - to remain indefinitely (Pushkin 241). Life's basics were not met, love was not kept and self-accusation was not accomplished.

Thoughts become things, which is why a person becomes what they think. If one is full of hate and is angry, one's life will be inadequate and full of agony. Whereas if one is full of love and views life with perception will rise above pain and depiction, and anything they can imagine will be truth; all that is needed is hope - as Masaru Emoto demonstrates with H2O. Words of love and hope made water crystals grow into spectacular pixels. The opposite holds true with words of hate, the water responds inanimate (Emoto 218-19). Shapeless and lifeless - faceless and nameless. The water of love was blessed, it has a purpose; the water of hate was cursed, and lost luster. These were just words tape to bottles. Now imagine the human body, and how thoughts can affect our psyche. Every single thing we think is who we will be, it is everything we will see - it is our destiny.

This is true, but society makes it hard; one must go to school or one must have a job. Money is the basis for survival; insuring food and safety so that one may prosper. But under suppression there is no payout for working harder, and Abraham Maslow proves that is a disaster. One must be secure to find oneself, which means one has everything else. Food, shelter, a sense of belonging, and self. This is what Maslow theory proves for our health. One must be safe before one can love, and one cannot face any of the above without a place to stay. Only after all physical needs are meet can one explore the other realties out there. The only true way to become self-aware (Huffman 412-13).

We are the Observers, and we are the lovers. The universe offers itself fully to us, for us to use with our consciousness. Creating the reality of which we see. Truth of this rests in the Two-Slit Experiment and theory. Electrons are the basis of elements and when shot into two slits they act without foretell. Mathematically incorrect, yet as real as it gets. Because when looked upon, the electron does not seem random but instead is viewed in plain view, in a single slit. But the results render different; the electron passes through both, but we only see one, because we only can see one. The cornea views all of the probable, but we can only process the possible (Two-Slit Experiments).

Next time you are looking in the corner, and praying for something to move. Your vision will get all blurry, and you are thinking, thinking, thinking; just trying to forget, that you are losing your mind. With this beast right next to you, and you are confused to know what he is. If our opinion really mattered once, you would have had an idea. Being forced into lassitude, you stare at the cold steel floor. These people - they will burn in hell for what they do. The rest is up to you.