Reality is too ugly to be ignored, my silent friend. If you are looking for an escape from reality, this story is not for you. Certain memories, they trap you forever and as you’ll fade further and further into the ugliness, you’ll realize only one thing, there isn’t a beginning or an end to a story, only chapters, mere moments from where we decide to look forward and look back.
Dickens once said, “What I won’t give to have flames of meaning burn this darkness of doubt inside me,” oh wait, I said that, made you look didn’t I? We all are strange followers, all of us, ships in a herd waiting for the command of someone we have accepted to guide our fate. We need someone to blame, someone to praise because we are too pathetic and too weak to accept our fate on our own terms.
Why is it that pain leads us towards introspection but joy makes us nothing more than ignorant? One of the hardest thing we ever do is learn to be ourselves. The thing we all are afraid of, a little introspection. Who knows what sort of demons we will find. My pain forced me to take the first step towards my long withdrawn dream. This story is the result of introspection of all my sufferings, I never would have decided to write this one if everything had gone perfectly normal for me. I would have simply lived my life like most of normal people, waking, working and sleeping.
But I don’t. I’ve hated normal. Everyone else around us, men and women, are fighting like hell not to inhale so much normal so they don’t suffocate. Most people are choking on normal. None of us chose to be what we became. When we came into this world, we were full of our innocence, a piece of clay ready to be moulded by the world around us. Every story, every little tale shaped the curvatures of the shape we got.
I’m an introvert, I don’t deny it and I’m definitely not ashamed of it. Why would I be? Just because I don’t understand all your emotions doesn’t means I don’t have them, I just struggle showing then in your acceptable ways. I once read somewhere, “Within each of us exists the basic human need to try to influence the world around us, or, in other words, to be proactive.” This is what distinguishes us from animals: an animal simply acts according to the way it is programmed. An external stimulus triggers a particular reaction. Humans, by contrast, “program” themselves.
How many lives we touched, who will miss us, who will shed a tear on our grave, on our ashes. Some are remembered by many, some by few. We all look at these with our unique views, everyone does that. We just need to learn to look from someone else’s point of view, to understand their world we need to live in their skin.
Heavy, right? I know but events and words like these aren’t uncommon in my sad little life. Thoughts like these have been a steady part of my entire life. My name is Atul and this is my little tale of woes. This is not something copied, it is something which is intimate and true, only for me.
Genre: Psychological Fiction
©2017 Nitesh Mishra (2LGV-RGFO-26AD-8JAH)
A story written entirely based on daily prompts, thirty-one days, thirty-one chapters, forty five thousand five hundred and sixty seven words, no pre-planned plot line, no pre-planned scenes. No, I’m not showing off, I’m just telling you, it’s a first draft, so few errors here and there may occur. Be patient, I’m currently working on the second draft.