White pedestal chair, about 1 metre in height, a stack of clothes sit atop. Rummaged through every so often. Not forgotten, just misplaced.
"I need to buy a wardrobe" the owner thinks, but she is unable to go down to the furniture store herself as she does not have her license. Big metals vehicles controlled by the motions of twists and turns on its cerebral cortex. It's not that she can't drive, she's just scared to be able to drive? Her logic is flawed, but isn't that what being a human being is?
She is imperfect. No one can be perfect in a society that strives for individualism, but seeks collectivism. But in saying this there are people closer to perfection than others. But what is perfection?
Is it living life to the fullest? Is it thriving on materialistic claims? Or is it down to surviving on the most basic primal instincts?
We are not defiant of gods plan, we've merely branched off the same trunk of the same tree. But he seems to have left us long ago, so if there is no god what is there to believe? In ourselves? In others? There are those who can survive knowing that throughout their lives, millions of others have been sacrificed to fulfil their own, and others who can't. Others say it's not their problem or those who don't even see a wrong with it.
So then if humanities beliefs were put on trial, should we be found guilty?
Sit atop the white pedestal, 1 metre in height, stared down by the heightened being who can give us our sentence, our guilt is rummaged through as she searches for the answer going back in circles.
