11-11-2012, 01:13 AM
"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."
The setting, grim. A bar. From the inside looks of it, a bar aboard a Freeport. No visible signs indicate which, but the setting of it is recognizable by anyone who has ever visited one of these bars. Bad people pretending to be nice, good people pretending to be bad, and the neutral ones caught in between. They all have the same purpose, or well, perhaps not a purpose, but a goal; To get somewhere. It might seem like a silly thought, but most of these people don't care about the trip, they just care about the destination. For most, it's just the thought of fast money, an easier living, fame and glory. The stench of lies and hypocrisy these people produce is noticeable by anyone who is interested enough in smelling it. It is intoxicating yet repulsive. It makes you want to taste its power, yet at the same time it makes you feel disgusted by yourself for even having the smallest desire to do so.
As the protagonist of our story is sitting in that bar, you can't help but wonder what differentiates him from the rest. Why any individual wouldn't be like anyone else in that place. Would you believe anyone to be special among a crowd of liars, thieves and beggars? Probably not. Even if they tried to persuade you, you would still just believe they are trying to trick you into something. So what is so special about our protagonist? Well, nothing. He is just like everyone else there, with one noticeable difference: He is aware of it. He chose this particular bar on purpose. The visible smoke curtain around every man that is smoking a cigarette just to appear as some sort of a badass, when he is in fact a whimpering coward that can barely feed himself every day. The alcohol drenched tables that don't get cleaned up regularly because too many bums keep showing up to make them filthy again. The shit stories that every single person that is passing by is telling, just to make their lives seem interesting and peculiar.
All of this makes him feel like a human. It makes him feel normal for one reason, he is the same sniveling coward that lies and hides behind a mask on a daily basis. It makes him feel better knowing that he isn't the only one. That he isn't a special case of pathetic, no, everyone else is just as pathetic as him.
As he is slowly drinking from his glass, every sip he takes is heavier and heavier. He is disgusted, more and more, by himself and everyone around him. What is torturing his already mildly psychotic mind even more, is the fact that these horribly boring and annoying people will eventually come sell him the same shit stories that he will have to listen to, by which he will have to be persuaded, and for which he will have to help them. The room keeps getting smaller and he just feels like standing up and jumping through an airlock, just to have the empty feeling of space draw out any emotion he has left. Oh how many times he has thought about it. How many times has he wished for it to be that simple.
The only thing that keeps him away from that thought, is that there is one bright light in everyone. One bright light that can keep you going through this sea of anger and misery. One light that could make all the others shine brighter. A fool, you could say. A fool influenced into believing by other fools. Yet somehow, this delusional idea keeps him going. It keeps him listening to all the lies, it keeps him from going crazy. It keeps him sane enough to not just take a lighter and light up the world, or himself.
The idea of that one light that keeps him going is merely an observation of the nature of reality. For him to say that it is not true, is to realize that the very foundations of his life are fragile. For him to find it, everything should be permitted. He would be the architect of his own actions, and he would live with their consequences, whether glorious or tragic. And soon, he will.
As the protagonist of our story is sitting in that bar, you can't help but wonder what differentiates him from the rest. Why any individual wouldn't be like anyone else in that place. Would you believe anyone to be special among a crowd of liars, thieves and beggars? Probably not. Even if they tried to persuade you, you would still just believe they are trying to trick you into something. So what is so special about our protagonist? Well, nothing. He is just like everyone else there, with one noticeable difference: He is aware of it. He chose this particular bar on purpose. The visible smoke curtain around every man that is smoking a cigarette just to appear as some sort of a badass, when he is in fact a whimpering coward that can barely feed himself every day. The alcohol drenched tables that don't get cleaned up regularly because too many bums keep showing up to make them filthy again. The shit stories that every single person that is passing by is telling, just to make their lives seem interesting and peculiar.
All of this makes him feel like a human. It makes him feel normal for one reason, he is the same sniveling coward that lies and hides behind a mask on a daily basis. It makes him feel better knowing that he isn't the only one. That he isn't a special case of pathetic, no, everyone else is just as pathetic as him.
As he is slowly drinking from his glass, every sip he takes is heavier and heavier. He is disgusted, more and more, by himself and everyone around him. What is torturing his already mildly psychotic mind even more, is the fact that these horribly boring and annoying people will eventually come sell him the same shit stories that he will have to listen to, by which he will have to be persuaded, and for which he will have to help them. The room keeps getting smaller and he just feels like standing up and jumping through an airlock, just to have the empty feeling of space draw out any emotion he has left. Oh how many times he has thought about it. How many times has he wished for it to be that simple.
The only thing that keeps him away from that thought, is that there is one bright light in everyone. One bright light that can keep you going through this sea of anger and misery. One light that could make all the others shine brighter. A fool, you could say. A fool influenced into believing by other fools. Yet somehow, this delusional idea keeps him going. It keeps him listening to all the lies, it keeps him from going crazy. It keeps him sane enough to not just take a lighter and light up the world, or himself.
The idea of that one light that keeps him going is merely an observation of the nature of reality. For him to say that it is not true, is to realize that the very foundations of his life are fragile. For him to find it, everything should be permitted. He would be the architect of his own actions, and he would live with their consequences, whether glorious or tragic. And soon, he will.