"Maybe each human being lives in a unique world, a private world different from those inhabited and experienced by all other humans. . . If reality differs from person to person, can we speak of reality singular, or shouldn't we really be talking about plural realities? And if there are plural realities, are some more true (more real) than others? What about the world of a schizophrenic? Maybe it's as real as our world. Maybe we cannot say that we are in touch with reality and he is not, but should instead say, His reality is so different from ours that he can't explain his to us, and we can't explain ours to him. The problem, then, is that if subjective worlds are experienced too differently, there occurs a breakdown in communication ... and there is the real illness."
If everyone can create their own realities, then how can we all see the same things? How can I see this table in front of me, which people are sitting at? They can see it too. What happens when you branch out from consciousness, connecting them all together on one singular plain? Like a giant web, we are all weaved together, by one object. One single pluck at the thread that holds us all together, would result in everything coming crashing down around us.
"Jesse!" I squeaked.
"Let go of my arm!" I cried out.
"This is no place for you." Jesse scowled.
Jesse took me towards the door forcefully and pulled me out in to the fresh autumn air.
"But I need to work!" I pulled my arm from his grasp.
I watched the condensation spill from my mouth, the wispy smoke travelled towards Jesse's face.
Jesse turned around and picked up an empty green beer bottle from the floor. I watched him with anticipation.
He took my wrist and we walked to the low wall against the parking lot.
I flinched covering my ears as he smashed the bottle against the red bricks.
"What are you doing?" I whispered, my eyes widening.
"I can make it stop, just tell me when." Jesse said as he raised the broken glass to me.
I waited for the condensation from his mouth to hit my face, but it never came.
I gasped uncontrollably.
"Jesse." I gasped.
"Not yet." I closed my eyes slowly shaking my head.
"Jesse I need to know about you." I breathed.
"You already have all the answers." Jesse smiled.
YOU ARE READING
Jesse
Short Story"What's your name?" I asked. "Jesse." He responded. A small glint in his eye danced back and forth between me and the reflection of the streetlight above us. A soft smile made delicate footprints across his lips as he looked towards the pavement. "...
