Luna's path was sad. Not terrible, no; terrible was the mother who watched her child lie in a hospital bed with tubes piercing their every vain, or the old man who sat and ate his dinner opposite an empty chair each night. Sad was dreaming little dreams and hoping with blissful naïveté, and watching it die, through no fault of your own, and then finding, somehow, a way to smile and say 'never mind', only to see it happen again. Sadder still, was that, really, Luna's life had always follow this pattern, to varying degrees of misfortune, constructing within her a troubled anxiety of simply living. Very few smiles ever reached Luna's limpid blue eyes.
She was, I am sorry to say, part of the bulk of humanity that perceived their individual existence as having some 'greater meaning'. Naturally, she claimed otherwise, and had proudly coined her own derivative maxim, stating that "You only become extraordinary when you come to realise how very ordinary you are."
To an extent, she did have faith in this, but still, within a deeply concealed, rarely visited fragment of her soul, was the belief that she was somehow unlike the rest of the human race.
It is impossible to say whether the real tragedy of Luna's life was her inability to accept her monotony, or whether it was the fact she was capable of entertaining the thought of not being able to accept this, and still refused. But the further she considered it, the more he paradox was shaped, and the more she became just another young person trying to worm their way, fruitlessly, out of convention.
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Arlo and the Universe
Short Story'We should give up trying to be normal and talk instead of space and drugs and floating above the world' The people below longed to be in one of the worlds they were told about. Arlo watched them play out their stories. Arlo had always done this, a...
