That boy had stolen my home but it looked like he hadn't one himself. Every day I would visit the pastry shop, not to do what I used to but to see if that alien, the nicest nickname I've ever given someone, was still coming by, and he was. I unconsciously started following him around and that made me realize that that quiet bookworm was an authentic alcoholic.
At night, he would always visit a very dark alley, and, some hours later, come back to the comfortable light of the moon, while shouting some passages of the book he kept reading to the now barely frequented street. "Why am I here/visiting alone/this lonely world?". I heard him shout those same verses every night while trying to stand still in the middle of the road. I had tried to help him out once, but once again, he avoided me. I couldn't blame him, obviously, the boy was blindly drowning in his addiction.
Curiosity started taking me to unknown places and that was when I discovered the boy's residence. A bad looking man, dressed with extremely dirty clothes would always open up the door and drag the boy inside. "Hades!" the man shouted as the sound of glass shattering into a million pieces echoed in the whole street. The environment inside that house seemed to be the worst, perhaps, that was why "Hades" was always at his worst as well.
I walked home, shivering because of the almost deadly cold, yet not caring. "Hades", so, that was his name? Peculiar, perhaps a nickname? Hades, "the dark god of the underworld". Somehow, it suited him well.
I finally got home and dropped dead on the dusty couch. Now forgetting about Hades, I started thinking about my own being. Starring at the ceiling, I started quietly thinking to myself. I, who never cared about anything nor wanted to, was questioning my existence. Every single person has some kind of purpose, something that motivates them and keeps them in line. Then, what is my purpose? Follow a completely stranger around?
All of this was starting to upset me. As someone that was never actually worried about that kind of stuff, the situation I was suddenly in was purely disgusting me, yet, I knew questioning this wasn't wrong at all, in fact, maybe I should have done it from the very beginning.
My mind started going blank, as my eyes closed out of exhaustion. I started praying that I would dream of something to live for, since imagination can give you what you can't have in the cruel real world you live in.
YOU ARE READING
Inexistence
Action" Maybe I was brought into this world to see him beautifully tear himself apart "
