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You are not alone

[You are not alone, 766 words, Genre: Experimental]

* Image courtesy of Dirk de Bruyn

As long as Fionn could remember, there had been a deep pain in his heart. A bitter loneliness that seethed away as an undercurrent that lay just beneath the surface. Some point of pain at his average existence. Average food, average lovers and average conversations. Average! Average! Average! Everything that he had been told that he would be when he would grow up, none of it was true. Every single sentiment that had been placed upon his shoulders from the time of his birth that he was going to be someone. None of it could be put into context now that he had reached his mid-twenties. He kind of just lazed there, in front of the television, channel surfing. To every single news station that he tuned into he could see the chaos and destruction that was sewn across the world. He pondered that thought and considered the fact that even those in esteemed positions of power held no control over the situation. The situation that was life, the situation that was the institution confined within the parameters of civilization and the constructions of identity for each and every single individual.

And as he sat there, watching the world burn around him. Hearing of great fires wiping out large sections of what was the dream machine called Hollywood, he thought about his own situation. His own situation as he looked on to the vast expanse of his life. The general layout of the world. It was all burning, the world was in a constant state of chaos. He looked inwards towards his own soul and saw the same. The quiet beating of his heart was one thing. Healthwise, there was nothing wrong with him. But the turbulent force of emotions that had been created required an outlet. Some poor soul to deliver his scornful mouth full of bitter obscenities. Though none could be found… And as he sat there with a deep pit of sorrow slowly engulfing his inner most thoughts, he scratched at an itch. The itch was on his leg, whether or not the itch was actually there or not it could not be said. Perhaps it was just his mind sending him some sort of signal to concentrate on something other than his emotions. If he could dig into his chest and carve away a slice of his heart he would. He would serve it to the next person that he saw. A great display of his inner most pain that he could throw at the masses. He thought that would gratiate them. A display of blood and bile. Throwing it at them… Yeah, that would entertain them the sick fucks. They always called out for more. The next new thing that they could possess, the next wave of entertainment that they could all focus in upon… A live beating heart, right in front of their eyeballs, so that they could see the thing, hooked up to electrodes to keep it beating, pumping out blood and excess matter. It was a situation of: he would if he could…

So he went to curl up in his bed instead. To escape from the pain. The pain of loneliness, the pain of a problematic existence as we all live our problematic lives… It’s a bit harsh to say that anyone’s to blame really. But what are you going to do when everyone is full of miscalculated rage without any direction in which to throw it at?

And as he lay there, underneath the warmth of his blankets… He felt the cool realization of being in hell. The torture that was sent upon him, wave after wave… And then he thought of the world burning. The world burning all around him. People starving, houses burning, chaos; here, there and everywhere. And there was a great ease that came in upon him. It was not that he was glad that others were suffering. It was that he too was suffering and because he knew there were others out there suffering, just as he… That other people’s lives and the patterns of their fate were sewn into a great tapestry of suffering and chaos, he no longer felt alone.

He had experienced solitude. A great feeling of broken dreams. He had experienced the struggles of daily life. He had experienced death and the problems of existence. But now that he knew that he was not alone, the blanket that covered him was like the fires of hell; warm and toasty.

That was the comfort that was given to him. The feeling of unity in the sufferings of mankind.

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