FicWad

Hello there
I wanted to write something for my having an account on ficwad for two years

This one's quite dark, but it's kind of a songfic to a song called Biotopia
And as a songfic this does not portray my views of the world. It's only fiction.

To everyone: Enjoy and maybe drop me a review or rate? xoxo K

Another day. Just like the last one, the one before that and the one before that. He lives in a never-ending circle repeating itself over and over again. There’s no way to change anything. We are born a certain way and condemned to stay in the lines designed for us. Everything is pre destined and we get no choice but to walk the lines an alien force drew for us. We’re prisoners in out own world. Free will, self determination and other illusions like that are methods to keep us in line, keep us quiet so we won’t rebel against this oppression.

Our life is made comfortable, a little secluded bubble given to us so we can design it the way we want things to look. Mindlessly we isolate ourselves, lay our thoughts around ourselves like coats keeping us warm and safe in a world so desolate.

Deception is what rules us and while we view our little bubble, hoping, dreaming and chasing senseless ideas we drift. We drift towards our destination, our doom, death, whatever you want to call it and yet don’t realise. Invisible is the world to our foolish eyes.

Even while thinking this.

He retreats into his thoughts because facing reality would be too painful. He makes himself believe his own lies and faux consolations so he won’t give up, won’t let his little bubble burst.

A boy can be seen aimlessly wandering the streets. He has a bag slung over his right shoulder, dangling loosely on his back. His eyes are what’s most striking about him. They’re cold orbs staring into the void. They are empty and yet so full. Full off nothing, the same nothing our world is made of.

In a way they are like mirrors. The greenish hazel reflecting one’s gaze as a passenger might choose to stare into them. All consuming, devouring and yet flooding you with everything that you are deep down. Every feeling you ever killed or chose to ignore.

From time to time a glance is shot his way. His eyes dart around, looking for something to focus on but finding nothing. As if he’s seeing the world through a type of goggles only he knows. Uncaring, undoubting, indifferent as if he’s seen it all but cannot comprehend.

It leaves one with a feeling implanted deep into one’s chest. Like the one one get at the darkest part of night, when deep ebony swallows all contours and the barely visible outlines of nature blur. With a constricted feeling in one’s chest one awaits dawn, but looses sense of time and so one doesn’t know if it’s taken a minute or a life time to blink one’s eyes.

He’s personified uncertainty, grave loneliness clutching his heart and squeezing, just squeezing until he can feel it rip, moaning and screaming in anguish as his essential parts are mauled, dismembered and torn.

One can see this boy move on. Lost and deluded and one might gasp relieved as he sneaks listlessly around the next corner. But once the immediate shock is gone one is left to wonder, wonder about things usually ignored because of their hopelessness, because of the pain brought upon an individual caught in this dilemma.

We can’t escape ourselves. We are caught in our own world.

So thin and fragile, this pretence wrapped around us and yet so easily destroyed. His imagination is his armour, his safety blanket he likes to curl into and hide. Hide from the taunts of his peers, from his reflection that’s continuously mocking him, from all the bad things in the world.

It hasn’t always this way. It was never supposed to be like this, he wasn’t supposed to turn out the way he has. There was a time once that he was whole, didn’t have this aching wound gaping in his chest, didn’t feel as though his heart was gouged out and shredded to pieces until the mangled snippets that remained were so utterly useless he just gave up on feeling.
No, once upon a time he was happy. But those times are long gone.

He has retreated into his shell, locking his soul away from anyone so nobody could detect how fractured, broken, how utterly afraid and defeated he is.

And once he’d built this wall around himself he noticed it. It just clicked in his brain and suddenly it made sense. Every single human, every existence, every plant, insect and even every stone on this freak accident we call earth is here for one purpose only.

We all exist sorely to die again.

We live in little dream bubbles, we chase dreams long gone and walk aimlessly. We stumble; we fall until all those whose eyes once shone with ambitions so bright are cleaned up.
‘Deluded’ he thinks. ‘Every single one of them lost their mind.’ There’s a veil obscuring their eyes and now all they see is their pretence of a happy fucking live while they forget we’re nothing.

Their eyes may be empty, but his are filled to the brim with this deep nothingness. That’s why nobody can stand looking his way, they see their true nature in them; in those green orbs nothing is reflected, because there’s nothing staring into them. They are the mirrors of the world and having seen the truth, having been forcefully made aware of the pitiful conditions of our lives one despairs.

Because it all comes down to all of us being alone. No matter how close to each other we are, we’re still alone. And loneliness is what we try to escape, but end up running straight into. That’s one of the miserable truths of our planet, a consequence of our lives. We are isolated, kept warm and sterile in a comfortable laid back place so we don’t question.

That’s why spectators are afraid of the boy. There are questions he appears to know the answer to. An answer none of us want to face.

There is always something separating us. We may see each other and hear each other’s voices, but there’s an indestructible wall we can’t avoid running into. We perceive the world we see to be the truth but there are so many factors influencing our vision and no matter how hard we try not to be filled with prejudice one always has an opinion of something. Everyone’s different from us and thus we’re all unique, but alone. Alone with ourselves since there’s nobody quite like us. This is what separates us, sets us apart from the others no matter how hard we try to assimilate.

But foolishly this rule is ignored. And while difference means diversity it also adds an incredible weight to existing.

The boy has long realized the true ways of nature, has realized everyone carries his genes, his self around like a curse.

‘Mankind has long lost its glory’ he muses, turning around the next corner.

We loose ourselves in this endless struggle to accommodate to life. We dull ourselves down, make ourselves sad. This is where the dilemma comes into the picture. Diversity is as much of a curse as being a clone.

He stares ahead, eyes unfocused. He’s vaguely aware of his surroundings, but the stark, contrasting lines of cars, trees and houses blur together and the edges of his vision whiten out. He can see people passing by, talking, laughing, shouting. Motors of cars are roaring and rumbling as they rush past him, but their sound is distant, as if they had to pass through some glutinous paste engulfing him.

He feels so caged, like a wild beast chained and put in a showcase to attract spectators. And he feels lost, because amongst all those people out there, there isn’t a single one reaching out for him. But then again, he reasons, how could they if they were blissfully unaware of their own leashes leading them. He’s the only one noticing them after all. But he still waits for someone, waits to be discovered.

The boy’s glaze sucks you in, swallows your soul. Such sadness portrayed on a face so young. Life isn’t supposed to be like this. Something breaks as a stranger glances into those eyes, those empty eyes of this beautiful boy. A deep longing grips his soul, as if gravity had found a new core to be pulled to. He’s initially drawn in, caught in those meaningful orbs of hazel belonging to such a mysterious boy.

But as quickly as the connection has been made it breaks again and the boy’s alone in his world again; alone in a world belonging to him.

He walks on aimlessly. He has nowhere to go anymore. But he supposes it doesn’t matter anyway. He lifts his head, staring at a gray sky filled with bulgy sky monsters obscuring the sun. Keeping still for a while he wonders if it really matters, if he really matters. Would it make a difference if he was gone? Because in the end we are only loosely attached to each other. If our connection breaks we eventually move on.

He imagines death as our own bubbles finally bursting. We light up like a flash until our existence has overstayed its welcome and we fade. So would his tiny world evaporating really make a difference?

There’s no one out there he makes an impact on anyway. Sure, people would grieve, mourn at his grave and wonder what evil possessed him to end his existence, but maybe it would make them start to wonder, start to think along the same lines he does. Then they’ll come to realize how pointless everything really is, that his passing didn’t make a difference. They’ll come to accept it, just as he had accepted the fact that the whole ordeal of life one is put through is nothing but a meaningless coincidence. And they’ll move on.
He isn’t important after all, nothing really is.

He continues glaring at the clouds above, but no matter how hard he looks, the answers don’t come to him. They never do, so he just stopped believing in anything.

Salvation won’t come. Dreams are futile, just a last faux hope people foolishly cling onto if everything is lost. Once he believed, had a heart full of hopes, a head full of ideas and eyes so strikingly beautiful they dazzled you, paralysed you with their sheer perfection.
But he grew up. Now those eyes make you nauseous, lift your feet of the ground, spin you around until you lose all sense of direction, just like him.

Blindly he stumbles forward. All he can feel is his everlasting loneliness, a constant weight atop his shoulders. Something maimed, stabbed, dismembered his heart, tore is apart and trampled over the little snippets littering the ground. They broke every last cell, twisted it until the last drop of life was viciously drained away from its rightful place, until nothing but a broken shell was left.

He’s nothing but that empty shell, a puppet walking lines programmed into his brain. Numbness took away reason, indifference and incredible apathy spread like wildfire.

Through all the years inhibiting this world we have mastered every obstacle, climbed mountains and sailed seas, flew to the moon and back in a vain hope to quell the need, the itch underneath our skin.

But for what?

In the end we’re still so horribly alone. So utterly deserted and helpless in a world trying to dull us down and let our lights go out every single day. We killed our feelings to protect ourselves, hid away into our little bubbles, our safety blankets.

And we’re save inside those layers of ignorance wrapped around us. We choose to let ourselves die.

Despairing he waits, waits for a sign that something may come, that someone’s out there to save him, but he has to realize there’s no one.

The world is lonely and life is nothing but a waste of time. We live and die, we take lives every day sorely by existing. Life is the most hideous coincidence on our planet. By surviving we inevitably feed on other’s lives, we kill, maim, butcher each other and worsen every one’s conditions perpetually until the day we depart.

There’s no way to get out of this. We’re separated, but the outlines of our bubbles are connected, attached to one another and by letting one burst we think only one life shatters, falls to pieces, but thousands take a splinter, are cracked open, exposed and severely attacked, worn down, faded, jaded, broken to death.

This truth is one of the inevitable facts he’s come to realize. He feels weirdly cut off, detached from the world. Everything swims before his eyes and one moment up’s down and down’s up until everything blurs, swims together and spins around. When he can focus again everything’s back to normal. Well; as normal as he can know. He doubts the existence of a norm; it contradicts his resolve of all things just being the way they are. Who knows whether we really live anyway, because he certainly doesn’t feel alive.

He merely subsists in a world he has no say in anyway.

All these thoughts confuse the boy, nothing seems to make senses everything jumbles together into a big mess occupying his head.

He considers quitting his search for an answer, but it would mean facing reality. He’s not ready to enter this realm where you’re brutally tormented and harassed without a second thought.

He snuggles deeper into his jacket, pulling his scarf closer around his throat. Still trudging along the same dull grey road undulating along a pitiful hill he’s just so incredibly bored.

Apathy swallowed him whole.

Lonely, alone, lonely, alone...

These are the words echoing in his skull. He’s so unbelievably cold. Just like his heart. He can feel every fibre of his body rebelling, hallucinations forcing themselves into his quickly degenerating brain. One minute he’s sad, angry and confused the next he’s on top of the world. He wants to blow everything up and cleanse it of its polluted greasy trash. Eradicate everything so he doesn’t have to stand seeing the world in its decrepit, crippled state any longer.

He’s so sick of himself, of having to put up with this life.

Pictures flash before his eyes like a firework of unhinged colors dancing underneath an exploding sun. Everything recedes only to come back like a tidal wave. He’s swaying, mad, but finally happy, because he’s no longer bound to his world. He’s found the solution.
One last time he stares at the world before gradually, tentatively closing his lids letting them droop until his eyes are shut.

His bubble is drifting, without commitment. He’s lost in life’s fog, he belongs nowhere but that’s the one thing ending his troubles, freeing him of his sorrow.
He can forget how rotten the world is.

One should be able to see the boy collapse at the side of the road. A man walks past the unmoving body as if he didn’t even notice its presence. Another one follows, doesn’t even stop to cast a glance at the mess of arms, legs and tousled black hair lying motionless on the ground. Like marionettes on strings people walk past our boy.

Without our bubbles we’re free, but true freedom can only be achieved if one dies. True freedom is total and utter detachment from every substance. To be free one must cease to exist in every way, because we are all bound, chained to this life, this world by commitments pre determined at birth.

We are like flames. We ignite; we burn until our light slowly dims down. Someday we’re burned down and we go out. From the moment we start our journey we are caught, prisoners in our own body. And while we burn bright our soul slowly freezes to death, lonely and forgotten about it shrivels up and dies.

Realisation had hit our boy as a result of excruciating agony. Hearts filled to the brim with anguish tend to discover truth more easily after all. And he found the way out of life’s vicious circle.

He disappeared, fled oppression and avoided further calamities. He tricked life and cheated death, laughed in solitude’s face and screamed underneath a sun not apparent to his eyes.

Then, in the aftermath of his own destruction, he ceased to exist.

He’s just not there anymore.

He can never come back.



Anyone else, feel free to Rate and Review

So long, Katie