The Light at the End of the Tunnel

Phase 1: Tremendously Excruciating

Life on the streets. People try to pry their way through what luxury and modern call, "the roads of mishap." It's not like anyone chose to be born in this judgmental world. This conspiratorial, bitter-sweet life is practically the inevitable. For me.

Despite the sporadic feedings and the hopeful discourses, I can't help but smirk at it. I pass by garish or sordid individuals, and I see how the garish look down on the sordid or how the sordid have the look of envy everytime they pass the garish. I think, "Wow.... This is quite disappointing." I think this way only because I've made myself this way. I'm neither malicious or magnificent. I won't think about the past, because it's pointless and it's like I'm trying to find ways "to end." I'd rather think in a present-future perspective. Actually, someone told me that they should always stick to the present because the future doesn't matter. But, I feel that they don't understand that the present lives for the future; in this case, the present doesn't last for a minute or a second but a Planck. Besides, if there is no future, there is no present. Right? 

In the year 2053, everything changed after the Distrikmet War. Twenty years later, in the year 2073, the country name, United States of America, was eradicated and is now named the Isles of Hegemony. I live in the city once called New York, but now it is entitled as Byodew. I noticed that fashion changed drastically also; convertibles and clothing for the rich altered back into the neoclassic era of the roaring 1920s, while the destitute revolved around the era of the ostentatious 2000s through 2030s. 

But, living the high-society, shimmering, strict path sounds uninteresting. I snicker at the way I live. I chuckle at how come across the most eccentric objects and malignant "humans." Sadly, I can't complain. I am forced to play the low-society, murky, unbound role. The role of a person who would never be in the limelight.

When I was younger, I used to stride from city to city. I've met the most hideous and brilliant sides of people. When I was little, I've heard fantasies, fairy-tales, myths, fables; they've mentioned a happy ending or a lesson humanity should follow. However, I pity Aesop, for his fables have been categorized as words, not lessons. I have not once encountered a prince charming or a soul who genuinely wants to help another. I wish I could. I honestly wish that my dreams can become a reality. I wish that this atrocious reality would have an ending.

I wander around Byodew for a while to find my shelter for the night. It's half past midnight, and I'm stuck with the decision of sleeping in the playground or the park bench. I run my hands through my unctuous hair, I shiver from the cold breeze. I'm ignored by passing prostitutes and their buyers, but I'm acknowledged by the flickering light of a street lamp.I have lived and dwelt in this city for the past seventeen years of my life (in simpler terms, I've lived here my entire life). Having to see my best friend, my dad, die, and lose my traitor of a mother to a drug-addicted lowlife isn't a cup of tea for a 10 yr old. Being independent at the age of 10 sounds laborious and difficult, but if leaving home meant not being slugged and beaten to death, it's worth not having that motherly love. But, to think I used to have that feeling makes me happy. It at least makes me feel human. I'm contradicting myself though; I hate the fact that I used to have that feeling, and now I don't have any clue to when I'll be able to experience it again. Unfortunately, I have somewhat discarded most of the emotions related to worry, trust, compassion, and pity at the age of 12 (believe me, I still have them, it's just difficult to trust people and be all giddy).

During the two year span of still having those emotions, I've experienced the worse possible. At the age of 11 I had already murdered someone I didn't even know. I already had obtained the murder award at the preliminary stages of life. On the date of October 23rd, 2068, I was taking my daily midnight stroll in the park when some asshole hits me on the back of my neck. When I awoke, I was blindfolded, seeing nothing but black, noticing I wasn't feeling that familiar midnight breeze, when suddenly the blindfold was taken off. I look to my left and see a girl maybe around the age 15, trembling, having a horrified look. I look around and see that I am placed in some type of run-down shack; it's unkempt, on the brink of deterioration, and also had that formidable, hostile aura. Then, a man came in and looked at us. I observed him; I saw that his state was exactly the same as of the shack. 

He suddenly spoke and told us these exact words: "Kill or be killed. Whoever kills the other first will be set free."  For a 12 yr old I was still processing of what was commanded of me, when suddenly a dagger decided to go hay-wire and it nearly stabbed my face. That 15 yr old had taken those words seriously, and I could tell an animal instinct had overwhelmed and devoured her (most likely) innocent soul. The only feeling that overwhelmed and devoured me was the feeling of panic. I must admit that I'm proud of not pissing my pants because people my age would have. Once my feeling of panic subsided, a new emotion arose: pity. I could tell in those green eyes she was more terrified than I was. She didn't want to be there, and she certainly didn't want to murder someone. So, I took the burden off her shoulders. I took a blade that was next to me, ran straight to her, and jabbed the knife straight into her stomach (it's surprising that she didn't defend herself). Once the deed was done, she said "Thank you." before she took her eternal sleep.

Surprisingly, that sly man didn't get the fabulous excitement he wanted, so he took a knife from his pocket, and tried to kill me. (way to ruin the moment) Having already killed someone only moments ago, I wasn't hesitant to murder that trash.

To have lost something so important to you, and to have killed two individuals in one night is overrated. I wanted to tell this event and pour my feelings of sadness, but even if my closet of friends were listening, I knew they wouldn't care. So, I bawled, I wept, I felt my heart shatter every time I dug out that memory. But, my rendezvous of a conclusion came to this: crying because of the past is irrelevant. Alienating some of those worthless feelings were easy; letting them submerge into an abyss of the unwanted and forgotten was a little easier. But, I knew that forgetting would be fruitless, for the impact of such an event is Tremendously Excruciating.