Tag: life

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

The Search For Happiness

Posted on by jennrae

She knew she had to return to the village soon, before anyone worried too much. She sighed, wiping the wetness from her face looking away from the sky, refocusing on the earth at her feet. Dreaming was the slow death. Time drifts slower in a dream, but there are so many happy moments there making reality seem so careless.

“You dream too much”, her mother chided her, “Some day you won’t wake up, and then what will we do? We will miss our beautiful daughter, lost to the winds and clouds forever. One must stay rooted in the ground. This is where people belong, not in silly dreams.”

She felt at home in the dreams. In the dreams there were many people, and they all tipped their hats, and curtsied to her. She had the best food and there was a boy who would dance with her, and make the light dance between them. Out of the dream, this person didn’t exist, or perhaps she just hadn’t met him yet. But she could dream.

In the dream she lived in a castle with spires, and tapestries, and full of other magical things. In the dream everyone was courteous. Sometimes her dreaming would get in the way of her chores, and she would be scolded by a sharp word or even a slap. But this didn’t bother her too much. Every chance she got she would sleep, even for only a little while, and once her eyes were closed, she could dance, and smile, and laugh.

Her life was simple, and she was happy with her dreaming. Her mother shook her head, but other than that, said nothing. Her teachers in school shook their heads, and would tell her to concentrate on this world, and she would blush as laughter from the other students erupted around her.

“One day this would change”, her father said, “You will grow out of dreaming, and make a decent wife to a good man, and have children. And maybe tend a garden like most women. Or perhaps you will become a learned scholar traveling the world, oh wait, that sounded way too dreamish, never mind that.”

Everyone knew she got the crazy dreaming from his family. Sometimes her father dreamt too, but his dreams were different from hers, mostly filled with monuments, and machines and a crazy urban landscape far removed from the country life style around the mountain.

Her mother dreamt of her children’s future. The grandchildren would be perfect in every way, her daughter would not only marry a good man, but a rich one who would treat the family as his own, showering them with gifts at every turn. It was a good dream, but her mother was secretly ashamed to dream such silly nonsense.

“Adults shouldn’t dream at all”, she said,”Merely do their duty, and make sure everything goes in its same steady stream. Dreams interrupt life, take away from it, dreams could be dangerous.” Her mother was against anything that was dangerous.

It was on an ordinary day where everyone did everything they had been doing, same as the day before, when some strangers came into town. These strangers declared that there was gold down the river, a lot of gold to any who had the hands to grab it, and life was good in the valley. Much better than on the mountain.

The girl listened to the wind, and it sounded like it was crying. Her mother just shook her head, but there was something sad about her eyes. Her father saw his machines, but not the monuments and stayed with the mountain. The girl went to the men with the gold, while her family watched transfixed as if in a dream, and she climbed into their carriage with a helping hand, headed  for the valley, leaving her family and school behind.

Her thoughts were simple enough. Perhaps the boy lived in the valley, and that was why she hadn’t met him and danced with the light in the castle. There would never be a castle on the mountain, she knew that with a certainty that made any reservations subside.

The men gave her bright cheery apples to eat, and she kicked her legs freely from the back of the wagon, watching her parents recede ever smaller. They made their way to the valley quickly, night falling about the same time they entered the gates. The valley had a river bleeding through it, as if from a deep wound to the earth, or like the earth was crying over the loss of the sky, forever parted, yet so terribly near.

She thanked the men, and jumped off the carriage without a care in the world. She knew there would be no turning back, she could not go home and expect to find her mother shaking her head. It was much too late for that.

She went looking for love, along the river, while the men looked for gold. The men got some of what they wanted, but never seemed to be content with the amount of gold from the river, and it gave less and less with each passing day. Soon the men started talking of developing the mountain, that the real gems would be found there. By the time the girl heard of this she was all ready too far removed from the men and their dreams of gold.

She was looking for something else, and hadn’t found it yet. She went to the valley town, and introduced herself politely enough, they handed her a broom, and told her to earn her living, and that nothing came for free.

She soon became disappointed, there were no castles here. She cried at night missing her family, her friends, and even the men with the carriage. But she could not go back. She knew that road was barred to her. She didn’t dream that night, and the boy did not come to dance with her.

The next night. there was no dream. Years past, and she was merely a woman instead of a girl, and she couldn’t dream. Dream of what? Gold? Men? Neither were what they seemed. Once had, she needed more, this wasn’t what she was looking for. She no longer knew the face of the boy, or the many people who would curtsy or tip their hats.

She began to feel sadness, and walked along the barren street, with her broom. When she looked up, she found a young man looking at her funny. “Why are you looking at me, like that?”

“Hmm?” he mumbled. “I thought I was dreaming. Is there anything to do here?” Dreaming. Of course, she remembered now, and she felt she was way too old, but then, maybe she wasn’t. She looked at her hands, and was startled to remember that she was still a young woman, not a girl, but far from old. When she stopped dreaming, she had aged years, but the young man reminded her of what it was to live in the realm of ideas, and she was grateful.

It was only after he left that she realized he was the boy, the one from her dream. She knew nothing about him, and she could see her mother shaking her head, dangerous. Still, she followed, wondering why he was here, and where he was going.

He was civil to her, and talked to her freely once she caught up to him. He seemed truly content with what he had, and she was amazed. She had never met anyone content before, just those striving for more. When asked about where he was from he turned to her in astonishment, “Have you not heard of the land to the West? It is where the dreamers live looking for knowledge of those who came before.”

She asked softly, “Can you take me there?”

He looked at her anew, and said, “What is it you do here? Sweep?”

“Yes,” she answered, blushing toward the ground. It was then, that he introduced her to his friends, and his wife, and she stopped in mid dream, horror struck.

How could someone else claim her dream? Yet, he was content with what he had, and wasn’t a dream at all, but a person. He told her he couldn’t take her to the land in the west, but that maybe someone could show her the way. He left her there, not knowing of her dreams,  which seemed so silly to her now, all the dancing was gone, and she suddenly felt very old.

She looked to the west, and began to walk down the river, away from the valley town, in the direction he had pointed. She couldn’t help dreaming again.

Seeing the young man in the flesh had forced her to remember what the dreams were like as she walked away letting the broom fall to the ground. Perhaps there was another young man, and that one could be her dream. She knew that wasn’t right, that it was a matter of timing, and place, and she would also have to learn how to be content with what she had in order to find him. Meanwhile, she would look for the land of dreams to the west.

 

 

 

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

The End, A Short Story

Posted on by jennrae

The pain doesn’t stop; it merely waits on the edge of the bed for the sensation of my limbs to return, and then it will reclaim me, heart and soul. The pain fills the space and time of the hospital room with harsh light, and fractured thoughts. Why must life be painful? If it weren’t for pain, would happiness be possible?

Hard to say since experience is only what you have done or seen, and pain is part of my experience. I guess it’s not so bad, at least I can feel something when I am in pain, instead of the constant numbness of nothing which surrounds me currently. I anticipate the pain with prophetic glee. It means I am still alive, that I will recover, and stand upon my own two feet again.

I can see a sunrise by the sea, and the trees swaying in the wind with a gentle but ominous creaking. The cool sensation of grass on bare feet, heedless of the shoe coming down to smack down on a strong but tiny frame. I want to run free of all the ropes that bind, run through those trees, on the grass.

I want to somehow get to the sea and the sky. I reach for wings I never had, to fly into the stars and see that I too, am merely an ant, ready to be crushed by a giant intergalactic shoe.  A black hole rising to swallow my hopes, dreams, and my soul.

The pain brings me back to this world, preventing me from floating away into the endless abyss of blackness above. Where is the joy? Hand in hand with the needle, awaiting that grimace that is so essential to feeling.

The nurse beckons quietly, almost mournfully like the man in his dark suit in a funeral parlor. Cherry or oak, for you? Yes, I think cherry with an ivory lining would be the best choice. Dramatic yet somehow simple. Elegant, yes, that was the word.

Some say they want to be cremated. What’s the fun in that? Let the worms eat me! Cinders blowing on the wind are such dead black things. Food is an integral part of life, and there will be no pain. Death is the absence of pain. Nothing exists then but the soul, and what is that really? A globe of phosphorescence? A blinding idea of pure thought and love, something that can endure  while the corpse cannot?  Does it exist?

Maybe, maybe not, how can I say when I haven’t died, or lived to remember it? I would like there to be a soul, something permanent, a voice to cry out, I was here! Graduated in ’97! Something to cry out in pain, I lived, I died, and I may live again! Who doesn’t wish to live forever?

Probably the few beings that actually could live forever. Life does get tiresome in only twenty to fifty some years. I could imagine infinity like a great big carousel, going round and round indefinitely, and not being able to get off, but being forced to go around, and around, and around.

I might go mad thinking like this. Where is that pain to remind me of life? Where are the nurses to jab needles into me? Where is the hospital? There is nothing here. There is nothing. The end is all.

Posted in Life, Uncategorized

Catnip, Farmer’s Markets, and Other Random Occurrences…

Posted on by jennrae

Since I have been silent a while I feel I need to explain a few things. While I adore writing, and I love writing spontaneously on here the most, it isn’t what currently pays the bills. If only it was. Alas, I have been picking up hours here and there and working a lot and haven’t yet figured out a time management strategy that works in the new place.

I am attempting to make a sort of small writing area where I can be in the right mood. But, I also like to keep an eye on my kid and my furry kiddo which means I spend most of my time in the living area.

I just gave my furry child a ton of catnip just to see her antics. She is adjusting to a strictly indoor life pretty well. I had some concerns that she would try to escape or be destructive out of boredom, but so far, she is adjusting by playing with her toys a lot more. Which makes sense, no access to mice and birds and  a plethora of time on her paws. Why not give some of the toys more time, of course a couple of them might not survive many  more thrashings.

My un-furry son has also been keeping me busy with his numerous activities from music, to Judo, to hiking trips. I feel like my second job is planner / chauffeur. And, writing has fallen behind the postal service and my son’s errand running. I know I could find time. It is just a matter of will power and planning.

Plus, I am still deciding on things in this place. I kinda don’t like how my bedroom is laid out. I am thinking of rearranging all the furniture.

I made the mistake of reading something about Feng Shui, and now I can’t get it out of my head how my bed is by a door, a window and across from two other doors. I don’t think there is a way to sleep in that room and have good luck, so I guess I am kinda screwed, according to feng shui anyhow.

One of the upsides to moving is you get to start over; it’s much easier to change things up now before I get too used to things. I may rearrange the living room as well. There are some ideas that I won’t know if they suit me or not until I actually see it.

My son and I go on almost daily Pokemon walks about town. It is a sort of ritual that also gets us some exercise even though we stop walking every few feet or so because he “has to catch them all,” it is better than  watching YouTube videos all day, which he would also love to do, and on one such walk we stumbled onto the Farmer’s Market, which was awesome.

A man was there who makes chain mail and some steam punk style jewelry.  It just turned into something else and somehow we ended up buying honey and almost a hat. So, sometimes I get some good experiences out of random encounters.

There is something to be said for not having everything planned out; for having things up in the air. It is like a surprise gift, an aha moment. I like being surprised. I feel like I am not surprised enough.

I feel bad for missing Zelazny’s birthday post the most, because he was a writer that affected my style a lot and he is one of my favorites. Speaking of surprises, I briefly went into some of the books I have left, and saw a hard back of The Green Pearl by Jack Vance.

I thought I lost all my Vance because they were in paperback form. Sometimes you forget what you have and surprise yourself with long lost treasures. I know it is just stuff but it is amazing how often I get reminded.

I go to get my sunglasses, they are gone. I remember reading Le Morte D’Arthur, oh wait, it was a paperback, it is gone. Dracula, gone. I had it since I was in Middle School, I bought it at the book fair.

I still have How to Write Science-Fiction and Fantasy by Orson Scott Card. Which is good because I wrote in the cover of that one. I tried to make sure I kept the books like that, but I did get a bit rushed. So, someone going to Good Will might find some of my treasures unknowingly. If so, I hope it wasn’t one of my teenage angst notes.  Sorry in advance if some poor soul were to stumble upon those. There is a reason I don’t write much poetry.

 

 

Posted in Life, Uncategorized

Moving On With Life

Posted on by jennrae

I had plans to do a lot of posts around Zelazny and others, and it didn’t happen because I found out I had to move unexpectedly. I hadn’t moved in eight years and I always had a sentimental side anyway, so over time I accumulated a lot of unnecessary stuff.

Basically, I had to give up a lot. My entire paperback collection and other items. Some disappeared when some people helped me move. I can’t prove who but one box of valuable items that cannot be replaced was lost.

My only regret was not going through stuff at least once a year. It always seemed like tomorrow things would get done. Tomorrow was always a day away. I guess I would have liked to have done things with more planning and less suddenly but now I am moved I feel better. So that is what I have been up to, plus a camping trip and a birthday party for my son and father’s day. And, now back to the work week.

One thing I learned about this experience is that in the end the stuff is just stuff. The crystal vase from my now deceased Grandma isn’t my Grandma, but only a crystal vase. The rings I lost, an engagement and a wedding ring from a marriage that didn’t work out, well, maybe that needed to happen. Maybe this all had to happen to get me ready for a new life.

The phoenix needs to go through the fire to be reborn. The phoenix has always been one of my favorite mythological beasts, perhaps this constant rebirth is part of the reason why. I have tried to reinvent myself so many times.  Maybe letting go is the part that I haven’t fully completed. Maybe this time will be the best time. Here’s to hoping, and thank you all for following. More posts will be coming.

Posted in Fiction, Life, Writing

Stream of Consciousness And Why I Sometimes Wish I was a Poet…

Posted on by jennrae

Been reading the news online and it is filled with the usual mayhem and death and destruction, and then I proceeded to stare at an empty screen for a bit thinking about how I should be writing and maybe I should figure out what I am going to write about.

Sometimes things come to me naturally, effortlessly. Just add coffee. Other times I need to coerce myself a little. I guess this is one of the latter situations as I am not really feeling it, but I find myself with the perfect opportunity to write. And I know I will regret not taking this opportunity later.

Then I thought about the term ‘Stream of Consciousness.’ It is a type of writing which I have read and I kinda like. Roger Zelazny uses it in his Chronicles of Amber, usually when his characters are changing their surroundings in some manner. It can be effective. It is perhaps the only way I can do anything poetic. It just doesn’t come naturally to me. I love words, and I love stringing them together in interesting ways. So, I should love poetry.

And, I love reading poetry. But, if I try to write a poem, it ends up either being sappy or depressing or amateurish. Or all three. Perhaps it is because it isn’t something I have worked on extensively. It isn’t something that I have sat and thought I could do. If you don’t believe you can do something, it is usually a self fulfilling prophecy where you will convince yourself to the point where— surprise, surprise, you can’t do it.

So, it might be a mind over matter type of thing. I don’t think of myself as a poet, therefore I am not one. But there is something to be said for finding a sentence that works and is visually compelling. I could probably go through my works and cherry pick sentences and phrases that sound cool to me and create a poem from them. Whether it could have a cohesive meaning I am not sure, but I could take the time to find a meaning and make it work.

Ultimately, if you think you can, you probably can. If you think you can’t, you probably can’t. The power of the mind and how you identify yourself, how you think or perceive yourself as a being matters.

My attempt at stream of consciousness:

New Year’s

Red flowers blooming brilliantly over night time skies

where the stars shine down like little paper lanterns

illuminating the fierce nocturnal eyes of a million raccoons

and cats and weasels and varmints as they scurry amidst bushes and trees

looking for tiny prey that is also scurrying looking for nuts and seeds to eat

so they can continue another day and another night

so that the cycle can start anew another day and another night

as the earth turns slowly in space rewinding time

like a loom of silver thread until one day there will be no more

and some other thread will start spinning

in some other faraway place will begin instead.

Posted in Uncategorized

Have Laptop Will Travel…

Posted on by jennrae

So I am taking a week off from work to get my groove back, creatively and emotionally. Been working a lot of six day weeks and even though it isn’t labor intensive work, working with the public does after a while, unravel the mind. So, I decided I needed some R and R, and also some time to re organize and do some deep cleaning. Need to make my environment more conducive to productive living and help me channel more productive thoughts. Been just surviving when I want to do so much more.

I have a mental list of things to get done, among them, writing. So, I took the laptop out with me today and went to a local coffee shop. I think I will do this throughout the week, maybe going to different ones.

This time I chose Rainshadow Coffee, because honestly I have been here before and it just has a great vibe to it. I feel like I get a lot done and it is just perfect. There is food if you are hungry, fresh locally roasted coffee which is awesome, and plenty of electrical outlets which is invaluable when you are using a laptop from 2009. Which I am.

One thing about old laptops, it has had a ton of its parts upgraded so it isn’t that slow actually, but yeah, it lasts for maybe 15 seconds unplugged from the wall, so, yeah, need an outlet, battery will not take you far with this one.

But, in defense of using an ancient laptop, a lot of the newer models you cannot upgrade at all, they fuse the parts to the motherboard. Apple started this trend, so blame them, they have been doing this for years.

Shame on IBM/Lenovo  and others for joining them in their desire to force people to buy an entirely new machine every few years instead of replacing parts.

I mean, how wasteful! Think about it? Perfectly good computers that just don’t have the video cards to handle modern games or applications, go into the trash because they can’t run anything anymore, but most of the parts work just fine.

GRRRR.  My laptop has a fairly new hard drive, which I installed myself, along with a WiFi card, and new better dual channel ram. All for much less than a new laptop would have cost me. Much less. Plus, the monitor and casing isn’t in a landfill somewhere, or the toxic motherboard isn’t poisoning children in India tasked with getting the mercury or some such evil thing. Doing my part, no matter how small.

Anyway, yeah, good food, great coffee, and WiFi plus electricity equals the perfect equation for a happy writer. Thumbs way up to Rainshadow.

I hope the competition is half this good, although I know of at least two other places that are in range. Scooter’s coffee, has WiFi, and an abundance of outlets, food and coffee. They actually have Rainshadow  roasted beans, ironically. All locally produced deli items which is amazing.

Hurricane Coffee is another place I frequent. They have an advantage that when I am with my son they are the only one with ice cream.

So, if you have a child, immediately Hurricane has an edge.  This edge is also a minus however, as it is also a local hang out spot for teens, so after school hours, they kinda take over half the place and tend to be kinda noisy.

You need some good sound canceling head phones to work in there at those times. Rainshadow is the most spacious of the the three by far, all three are in proximity of down town and are convenient. They are all good, and the food is decent at all places, although I would give Rainshadow the top marks on food because they offer breakfast burritos and hot foods while the other two are more sandwiches and bagels and that kind of thing.

Price wise, I think Scooter’s is the most economical if you are sticking with drip coffee. If you are getting food or espresso, I would say they are all within range of each other. All are great places for inspiration and public writing spaces. There is something to be said for being in your own world while simultaneously surrounded by people. It is just a completely different feeling than being at home in your jammies with your computer. although that is good too.

There is also Starbucks, of course, but Starbucks is the same wherever you are pretty much. The McDonald’s of Coffeeshops, unless you count McDonalds which also has free Wifi and coffee, so, yeah, also an option. But I prefer to support the independents when I can. The little guys have the best atmosphere, the best vibe, and you can’t replicate or buy that, it just is.

And some places have it and some places don’t. I can’t explain it. It is an emotion not something quantifiable. I just know it isn’t something chain stores can cultivate. Starbucks culture is so snobbish and highbrow. It is kinda artificial and forced. It isn’t a natural culture. It is something marketed to itself by somebody in Seattle somewhere.

They try, just when you become big, something happens. You lose the dynamic culture of something crafted for a small audience, you start to cater to the masses, and the masses are a lot more blase and boring than a more specific audience ever is.

The smaller place will always have a more eclectic and interesting feel. I need to try Suzon’s as well. I remember it being cozy and having decent coffee but being more quiet and contemplative. Not a good option to take a kid, but those without children might prefer a quiet space. There is a place for everyone it seems even in a small town.

 

 

Posted in Fiction, Writing

Writing Prompt– One Man’s Story

Posted on by jennrae

Inspired by James Mascia’s Other Worlds:Writing Prompts for the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writer, kindle edition.

The man opened the door, slowly sliding in and taking a seat seeing the line in front of him. The phones were ringing and could not be answered fast enough. Policemen hurried about and left leaving staff frantically answering phones and taking messages on those little post it notes and stationary, whatever happened to be close to their hand at that moment.

The man knew why this was happening. And he knew it was time to tell his story. There is no point in telling a story without an audience to react to it, so time would be limited. He needed an audience. This was his masterpiece and he wanted to be recognized for it before it was too late. His worn shoes and tattered coat misled people into thinking he was powerless. They were all wrong, so very wrong.

He watched the people edge closer to the counter one at a time, being told to take a seat and as soon as someone was available they would be seen to. He waited. People continued to stream in, in a worried frantic way, only to wait. Hurry up and wait folks. Time’s almost up.

The man looked at his cracked beaten watch and smiled. So close now. He took a deep breath in through his nose, almost tasting the fear, the sense of impending doom in the air. He could almost feel the vibration like a massive bomb going off, of all the anxious energy of all the people around him. To be in a police station when the end was nigh. That was how to be in the center of the storm. To feel the nuclear blast at its core. Would he survive this? Did it matter?

He started tapping his foot. He almost jumped out of his chair. He had been carrying a sign for so long warning people of the end times. People laughed at him, spit in his face, shoved him, but it was the laughing that hurt most. Now who is laughing, he thought.

He was a part of this chaos. He knew he started this cyclone spiraling down with his powerful mind. He would watch the world burn and it go down the toilet bowl. Would he get sucked in with it? Maybe? But it was so worth it. Just to hear all those jeers and taunts, the pity change thrown at his feet like he was a common beggar.

How dare they! He meant it as a serious warning but no one took heed. He smiled smugly to himself. His ex wife and estranged kids cut him out of their life long ago. He lost his house and property to the evil empire. He all ready lost everything that mattered including his pride and dignity.

This was his calling, his duty to warn mankind of the angels of destruction and the end of the world. But it was a onerous task, one which cost him everything. A man with nothing to lose is the most dangerous. He believed this. He knew this. He was that man.

Finally the lobby was filled with people muttering and sitting and some still standing defiantly, all demanding answers. He stood up and walked up to the counter pushing some people aside, others looked at him perplexed but still moved aside. His purpose was now. This would be his audience, his big moment.

“All these storms, these disasters. All this natural destruction that y’all are experiencing right now. It is the will of God. But it is also my vengeance. I was tasked by the angels to warn you all of this time that was a coming. But you all laughed at me, pitied me, shook your head and kept on a walking. Well, now is the time to pay the piper. Now it is the end times.

“And, I hope you all suffer as I have suffered. I hope everyone you loved leaves you high and dry. I hope government types come and take your house, and your car, and tell you what to do. I hope when you get so down and you can’t buy yourself food and clothes that when people laugh and chuckle and throw a penny or a nickel at your face that you think it is actually funny. I hope that you get dirty looks when you scrape enough change together to buy a pack of cigs or a single beer.

“I hope people judge you by how you smell, and what you look like. I hope you fall apart and when the voices do come, cause they will, I hope you listen real hard. I hope you all go in one big group and throw yourselves off the cliff like lemmings. I won’t do it. But I will be watching. And, maybe I will have a beer while I do.” And he spat on the ground, people looking at him like he was crazy. Nothing new there. They will see. They would all see. No one made a move to grab him, or hurt him.

They just all stared at him blankly like they didn’t understand English. Maybe he was still a big joke to them. He breathed in deeply one more time, focusing his mind on the final destruction, seeing it, believing it. Making it happen, now. He spread his arms out, people backed away still muttering. But he could no longer hear them.

” Please God, make me an instrument of your will. Please, end my suffering, and all the suffering of those around me. I cannot stand this evil world anymore. I tried to do your bidding, but it was hard. People are cruel. I do not know if they are ready for your love, yet. They are still full of arrogance, pride, jealousy, envy. Revenge. Yes, I am also full of revenge. I am also not worthy. But let me be the undoing. My fate is sealed, I know that now. I made my choices, I am ready to pay. Let it be now.”

A large rumble shook the room. People gripped the counter, and ducked down. Windows shattered, the personnel behind the counter took cover, trying to call out to no avail. Lines went down lights flickered and went out. People started to panic running in all kinds of directions. He simply watched, un-moving, a slight smile on his dirty face. It was just like he pictured it. Exactly. His mind was ridiculously powerful. The fear, the fear, it was intoxicating. They were scared, and he was not.

And then suddenly his eyes opened, and he was in a hospital bed, surrounded by faces he didn’t know. “What happened? Is this heaven?”

“No, this isn’t heaven. You were in an accident. A hit and run driver. These people found you and called 911. Do you remember what happened at all?” The doctor had a notepad and a pencil and wore a concerned expression on his face like a costume. A pretend to care face, he knew that look too well.

“Do you want the truth? Or what you want to hear? I was living my dream. And what a beautiful dream it was. I wish I had not woken up. I hate this world.”

“When was the last time you saw a doctor? Who is your next of kin?”

“Does it matter? I am like an egg carton, like one of those oily burger wrapper things that doesn’t make it into the trash. No one takes care of me, yet I stick around. No one wants me, but I’m still here.”

He saw the doctor scribble something down. He would guess Depression with a capital D. No one knew the truth, no one wanted to know. He closed his eyes again. Still not worthy to fulfill his destiny. He had to go back to warning people again. Someday he would be worthy to fulfill his purpose. Then they would all see. They would all tremble before him. The laughing would finally stop.