A Collection Of Short Stories

Alone

The room is shaded and cool, the afternoon sun is bright. The silent scene outside may as well belong to another world. Elderly people shuffle down the sidewalk, in and out of buildings as they wish. Some are pushed in wheelchairs and others are guided. It must be nice to live a life with someone to care for your every need, no matter how small or petty it may seem.
Adults hurry in and out of shops and cars and buildings, a clear goal in mind; find food for dinner, by new clothes, go to work, and so on. They know what they want and need to do, and they head right to it without questioning anything. It must be nice to live a life with purpose and motivation.
Teens socialise at cafés eating lunch with their friends, talking and smiling and laughing. Never once has there been a flicker of doubt or anxiety or sadness upon their faces. It must be nice to live a life full of love and happiness.
Children run around parks, lost in their imagination. Not one child is left out of this unseen game; not one is judged for being the slightest bit different. They don't cry either, no. They laugh and climb and help each other without a care in the world. And for those that do fall down and get hurt, well, everyone is there to cheer them up. It must be nice to live a life so simple and honest.
Babies look on this world with quiet amazement, coddled by their parents. Oh, how this world will shape and age them in ways they could not understand yet, changing them into the product of society, whether it be whole people like everyone above, or broken, wretched lives who cannot even get out of bed like myself. Most have much to look forward to, and others will learn to live and cope with what they can get, the small scraps of happiness and joy that can be so very rare and precious.
The window grew cold and I let the curtain fall back into place. I would have gone outside, made friends and enjoyed living... but what was the point? There's nobody to go outside with, and even if there had been, I physically couldn't have. There was no purpose, no need for me to be out in the loving, warm afternoon. There were no friends who could distract me from my doubts and anxiety, none to have made me laugh and smile and be happy. There is no such thing as a simple or honest life. Everything is interconnected and one wrong move—one small and insignificant wrong move—could create a cascading domino effect and before you're aware, you could never make things right again. And honesty? People lie all the time, judge all the time, so there really is no point in honesty either.
There was no point in being out there at all; out there in that illusion of a world. The elderly are already dead. The adults will lose purpose. The teens are all dying inside, pushing it down and away all while screaming for help. And the children... the poor, innocent children who will grow up to judge and to lie and to worry and all for what?
I rolled over in bed, pulled the blankets higher. I am content with living my wretched existence alone, if only so I didn't add to other people's burdens. I am content with being alone as only I could judge and lie to myself about everything being alright.
I am content with seeing through all my lies.
I am content.
Alone.