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A cloud grew over me—a cumulonimbus. It was dark. I made no noise as I crouched in bed. I was hiding under the covers. The door was locked. The lights were off. I could feel the air getting hot as I breathed in the air I had breathed out a second ago. I was hiding under the covers. There was limited oxygen. I began to find it hard to breathe.
The cloud was not pretty. It was not happy. It was a dark, ugly cloud. It made no noise. But I knew it was there. It had the dark, ugly grey of a cumulonimbus cloud. I hated it. I hated it was there. But for some odd reason I had a feeling I had summoned it here.
Under the covers. I was crouching, my head on the pillow and my legs bent up and my arms hugging them. My glasses were somewhere. I don’t know. I lost it in the rain.
My eyes were wet and my upper lip was salty and I, I, well I was under the cumulonimbus. I hated it was under it and I hated myself for being there. I hated.
Yet for some reason, I wanted it to be there. Some dark pit of my stomach, some dark pit that had summoned the cumulonimbus—that dark pit wanted it there. It wanted that cumulonimbus lingering, it wanted it looking over me. So I secretly wished it to stay. And it did.
I felt weak, and I hated that I felt weak. Crouching so pathetically under the covers. Under the cumulonimbus.
I had locked the door. I was wallowing, I was pounding myself and letting myself get hit by the lightning, the rain, of the cumulonimbus. And I (...)
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A World of Loneliness and Pain
It wasn’t always like this, you know. Before, I used to have lots of friends and family by my side, I had a smile on my face, and my thoughts were clear and mild and happy. That beautiful picture of all of the relationships I had with people—family, friends, relatives, acquaintances. The picture was full of people who all knew who I was. And for that matter, made sure I knew who I was.
But it became different. We all start at the same place, you know. So in the beginning years of life, everyone isn’t that far from each other. We are easier to make bonds with—find friends, find smiles to share. But time draws us a line, a line that, if you start from the starting point—there are infinite directions you can lift off and go. I didn’t know, in the beginning—in the beginning, we were all the same distance from each other—generally. But it was, I noticed later on, true that even in the beginning, I was drawing my line in a direction much different than everyone else.
It’s not like I could help it—or that I knew what would happen. What could I do? As a teething little tyke, I could do nothing but oblige to my mother’s commands and scolds. She was, in a way, putting her hand around mine and directing the line for me.
But when It was time for me to draw my line on my own, and I looked up, there were less people in the picture. That picture—that once had lots of friends, family, relatives, (...)
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Sweating a little, but still a little bit awake in the humid air, I walk down to the parking lot, my too-small sneakers squishing the muddy, sloppy ground beneath my feet. Avoiding the larger puddles, I stare down at the dark green grass, and the mud revealing itself with a dull, shimmering glow, from the reflection of the sun. It’s kind of hot, so I walk in a way that wind can kind of graze my neck. It feels okay.
“That was terrible,” I say. “Wasn’t it?”
I look up at my mom, half hoping she would reassure me and tell me it was at least a little better than last time. Encouragement isn’t too bad, you know?
And plus, I did try a bit more than last time.
But my mom apparently doesn’t agree.
“That was terrible,” she says. And that’s just the start. I can tell.
“It was a waste of time! Do you really want to continue this? I mean, you’re terrible at it.”
I concentrate on the movement of the blades of grass. They’re all swishing this way and that. I step on one of the swinging glass blades, which makes a rather large slopping sound.
“Yes,” I say. If I’m going to do any sport, it’s rather I continue this than any other—I’ve failed at any sport I’ve tried. At least I’ve started this one. No use starting another.
She sighs.
I concentrate on the concrete, now. The grass and mud are behind me. I lightly drag my racket on the ground, and then lift it up again. Long (...)
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Everyone is a beginner at life. Is life a game? In some ways, yes. In some ways, no. Life is something that can be always used in an analogy with virtually anything. Life is like an apple. It seems all shiny and inviting, but you never know if it's poisonous.
Life is like a mirror. You can always see yourself, but you never know what's inside.
But that's beside the point. Everyone's a beginner at life.
Let's put it this way.
We've all been born. It's the only way you're reading this.
We're all going to die. Face it. Whether you die at 100 or at 40, you're going to die. It's not some hardcore fact that will make your life miserable. But you have to admit. It's there.
We have this one chance, this ultimate one chance, to live our life as myself, as me. After that, it's heaven, nirvana, whatever you believe you go afterwards. Even if it's another life. In this life, you're you. Only one life as you.
So we're all beginners.
"Pah, elementary level human! You have just begun life."
"Pah, elementary level human! You're still in your first life."
So in a sense, we are all equal. Whether older makes you wiser or younger makes you stronger, it does not matter. Because wiser means more able to deal with reality, and stronger is an illusion that makes people think stronger (...)
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(Note: Not a true story. I'm not depressed or anything. I think.)
It’s my final masterpiece. One I’ve been working on for weeks, if not months. It’s been carefully crafted, drawn out before, a million times maybe, and in detail to every little diamond, color, and stitch. I’ve planned it all out—it was planned out from the beginning, actually. I just didn’t know how, when, or why.
I just knew.
So when I realized that the time had come and I no longer could serve them under their relentless wrath, empty pity, and no mercy, I knew. It was time.
Something planned from a while ago, taken root in the depths of my heart. A thought that was unbearable, yet inevitable. It was a poison stinging my mind, and I had grown numb to it. But upon seeing more and more fury and cruelty, I could hold it no longer. That poison was now spreading rapidly and infecting the mind, the thought already made, and the plan, put into action.
Of course, they did not know. They did not think of such things.
It was my final, ultimate masterpiece, one that would include all of my strength, power, and eventually, life. It was in the most intricate detail, each shade of red, blue, and yellow a different one, in the most unique way, with its own story. It was well thought out, and even looking upon it, I found that it shone with a beauty.
But it was a dark beauty with a dark purpose. The colorful swirls (...)
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Life is like watching a movie. It's like watching that one part of the movie, when the main character makes the stupidest mistake, and you can't help but just sit and watch. Maybe you'll scream at the screen, waiting for the person to realize their mistake, saying YOU IDIOT! HE'S RIGHT BEHIND YOU! TURN AROUND! TURN AROUND! But of course, what's happened is what has happened. You can't do anything but fuss, scream, yell, or complain about it. You can't go to the movie company and sue them for doing that, because without that mistake, there would be no plot in the movie. No meaning. It would just be a boring, careful little movie, about a person who lived their life managing to pay the bills and die of natural causes. But that's not what a movie is. What's the fun to a movie without a bit of trouble, without a climax, or a plot?
What about life?
Living a careful life is like watching a boring movie with no plot. Have a plot and climax in your life, when you do something to change the world. If every person changes the world positively one square inch at a time, and with the population of humans increasing, the world can be so much more than it is today.
But what can one expect? Life is something people have made up. "Hey, this is life, dude." Welcome to Life, Earth! You are now in the area called Life. Out here, it's a jungle. Out here, you're alone. Hey, person! Get over it! This (...)
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