Totally forgot to update this Thursday. I don't know how many of you feel truly betrayed, but I felt like I missed out on an obligation. So sorry folks.
To compensate, I'm doing a big post now - my first piece of creative content. Here's a short story I've been working on for a while now, and just finished up this week. It's not great, but I felt like writing after finishing reading Fight Club a little while ago.Hope you like it. And please comment. (Note: this story is about a fictional character and in no way represents my real-life opinions.)
*****
The robot hollered at me from beside my face, eager to reach me and fulfill its purpose. Today was a big, important day with an entire new realm of possibilities and opportunities awaiting.
The robot knew this, and it simply had to tell me. It was all it knew.
I tapped the button on the machine's head, my binary equivalent of calmly stating, "Thank you very much for the effort, Mr. Alarm Clock, and I deeply appreciate that you were thinking of me, but you can go fuck yourself."
The robot was lying.
Today was not a big, important day. Nothing of great cosmic significance would happen, as far as I would observe.
Today was, instead, a Thursday.
After thirty-seven minutes of performing actions required for my survival as a human being and actions supposedly required for my survival as a member of modern urban society, I was behind the wheel of my car, another insufferable machine that I would avoid if possible. But the benefits simply didn't outweigh the costs. Though taking public transit would require less mechanical work, it would also require me to occupy the same space as the human beings I knew to be venomous, disgusting, dangerous to my impermeable state of accepted depression. And walking was obviously out of the question. So the car it was.
I sipped my Magic Liquid Support Group and Motivator while I carefully maneuvered among the organized assembly line of industrial Phoenix. I was attentive, for I had been taught since I was 16 to respect the programming we all held crucial to our perceived success. One mistake, and the others would require bothersome reprogramming. One big mistake, and the whole system could be thrown out of order.
This is the way I perceive the world. In units of an insane global Routine that seems devoted to destroying whatever our original purpose on this Earth was supposed to be. At least, I assume this isn't our purpose. or the world's grand plan is awfully illusive.
Sometimes - No, every day, I wonder how we all ended up in the Routine. Who was the choreographer? Why this dull, emotionless piece, over and over again? Did we have a chance to resist? Did we try?
If we did, it didn't work. So now I was trapped in the Routine, going to the same job at the cell phone company day after day. But there was a reason, I've been told. I'm going for the benefit of myself, for the benefit of family, for the benefit of my customers, for the benefit of my pride, for the benefit of my parents' pride, for the benefit of the economy, for the benefit of our society, for the benefit of our world!
And yet none of them will notice. The economy would survive without me just fine. My mother will never call me to say, "Oh, honey, I heard you fixed a glitch in a menu today. I'm so proud of you." The world would never notice if I disappeared.
Depressing, maybe. But I'm already depressed, so I've got nothing left to lose.
You know, I wasn't always this way. I used to believe in a coherent world with meaning and reason. I used to think I was happy.
I lived in a strong, upstanding family. Dad, mom, daughter, son. The nuclear family rigged to explode. My parents taught me how to pretend to enjoy vegetables, to pretend to miss my relatives on the phone, to pretend to smile in the presence of a camera, to pretend to be the people we were supposed to be.
My father spent his entire life living polite society's Routine. He got good grades in school, graduated from a quality college, got married at 23, found a well-paying executive job. Never smoked, never did drugs, never drank except when it was proper. Raised two beautiful children. The world would be pleased.
Then, driving home from work one day, he spotted a hitchhiker on the side of the road, thumb up and expression hopeful. Dad knew the risks, and he knew that hitchhiking in our state was, god forbid, illegal, but he was feeling generous that night, and he had never broken the law before. So, after a quick mirror check for police cars, he pulled over and opened the door.
I wonder which hurt Dad more as the man jumped in, the bitter irony or the instant karma. Or maybe it was the knife that pressed against his neck as the hitchhiker ordered him to get out of the car.
Dad didn't think; his foot instantly slammed on the gas.
I don't know if the hitchhiker had the guts to actually kill my dad, or if it was just an empty threat. But as the car lurched forward, the man's muscles tensed and his arm jerked, so it didn't make a difference.
All this was recounted to us when the car was tracked and the man was captured two weeks later.
When I heard the story, I cried. But not because I was sad or angry at the death of my father. It was because I was seeing the world I'd been painted my entire life collapsing into itself. Everything I'd ever been told about how things worked, how I should be, what I should do, what the key to happiness was, was all finally seen to be a lie. My dad thought he knew all those things, but it didn't mean a thing in the end. It was all just a sadistic game played by madmen and politicians who didn't know the rules. The realization was terrifying. But... refreshing. The truth hurts sometimes, but it's still the truth. My tears of fear and grief were mixed with those of joy.
Now I live in the real world. Once the silk roads and fake smiles have been shed, all that remains is a shriveled, cowering embarrassment that we try to hide away. Most of us don't even know what we're hiding. But if we saw it, it would defeat the purpose.
I've seen it. And now I see it everywhere.
