Mediocrity. The same as the majority. Just an average woman in her mid-thirties. You're not very talented, you don't blind the others with your ethereal beauty, you can't brag about your career success or, morever, about your personal life. There's nothing to be proud of. There's no one who would be thinking of you all day and night and whose heart would be racing from a one short message written by you.
A typical existential crisis has enveloped you from head downwards. You apathetically creep out of the blanket in the morning, go to the kitchen and make yourself a cup of tasteless coffee, then get ready to the damn work. You no longer can consider yourself an ambitious person, you begin to think there's nothing to aspire for, you just drift in this reality like a lost ship.
No, you're not being desperate, and thoughts about radical termination of the hardships don't come across your mind. You take for granted the boring and joyless routine. Of course, it hasn't always been like that. One and a half decades ago your soul was overflooded with easily achievable dreams. Obstacles on the way to the goal? What are those? If you're not a weakling and not an idler, any difficulties would become only little stones in your piggy bank of life experience, nothing more.
And if you're a quitter who gives in to depression, wise men advise to look for the root of the problems in yourself exclusively. It means you had let something go amiss. You hadn't worked enough on your self-development and personal growth, hadn't mastered the basics of psychology, therefore you're suffering now. Anyway, it's no use crying over spilt milk. Simply allow your vapid life to continue. You're unable to change anything.
YOU ARE READING
THE PETALS OF HATE
Science FictionA novel about an ordinary office worker. Let's see what kind of adventures she'll go through! Will she change the entire Universe just by an accident?
