Of Nothing....((i dedicate this to Jenns cuz she loved it so much))
As I drove down the street, I noticed the emptiness all around me. My
large blue eyes kept darting back to the rearview mirror in hopes to see
a new car behind me, but it never happened. Almost everyone seemed to be
gone. Even the stores and restaurants that were usually packed with
people and cars on a Wednesday weren’t. I kept thinking to myself and
aloud about where everyone could be.
"Is there something I didn’t know about?" I asked myself.
I shook my head "no." Really it was only another Wednesday and everyone
was missing. I had a feeling of being alone. Maybe I was dead. I always
wondered what it would be like to die. Since I had never experienced
death, I couldn’t tell myself if I was or not.
I was just alone along with the few people who sped around in their cars.
It was if they no longer cared about living. Maybe they were already
dead. I had no idea. It was so eerie, as if there was about to be a
hurricane and everyone was leaving town in order to save their lives. I
knew that wasn’t so. The meteorologist had already told us that there
would be no more hurricanes for this season, besides I would’ve heard
about a hurricane before then.
It felt like death, even though I did not know what death was. I guess I
thought of it this way by what I thought death would be like, lonely and
empty. I neither disliked nor liked the feeling that I had. It was just
there and I felt it. There’s no way for me to describe it.
As I thought more about death I thought about why and how I had died and
how I could not know that I was dead. I didn’t even know if I was dead,
but it did not matter. I was a pessimist and always looked on the dark
side of everything. There was no sense in looking at the good side. If
you always looked at the good side then you would more than likely be let
down time and again.
I kept driving down the same road and kept wondering if anyone would care
if I were dead or alive. I knew somewhere inside that they did, but it
didn’t matter if I couldn’t feel it on the surface. I looked at each car,
hoping that there would be a familiar face. There wasn’t. I hated that I
couldn’t figure out what was going on, but was relieved when I turned my
car onto the road that led to my house.
When I got there, I went inside and turned on the television. Everything
worked perfectly. I decided to not worry about it and to just make some
coffee and sit while reading a book. I needed some peace and quiet for
one night, even though I knew I’d end up needing to listen to some music
even if it turned out to be classical. I loved Mozart. He was a true
genius and his symphonies were beautiful.
I sat reading that book, forgetting about my feelings of death and
strangeness. There was no sense in worrying about something I had no
control over. If I was dead then I was dead. I was quite content with
pretending I was still alive and going through the motions of being that
way. I did the same in life, pretended that I was alive just so no one
would ask how I was and such.
I hated how everyone would ask that the second that I didn’t look like I
was the happiest person alive. It wasn’t as if they cared if anything was
wrong, they just wanted to be nosey and reassure themselves that they
were good because they were making sure that everyone was all right. Same
with the strangers who say "hello" to you and ask how you are just to be
friendly. You say "fine" or whatever phrases you’ve been told to say
because that’s what you’ve been told to do. They don’t actually want to
hear about your problems or how you’re really feeling. They just have to
ask to feel that they are doing a good deed and that they are Mr./Mrs.
Friendly. One day I vowed to tell those people EXACTLY how I felt and see
their reaction. Though, if I were dead, it would never happen.
I read several chapters and decided that I needed some fresh air. I had
nothing else to do and it was cold out. I pulled a black jacket over the
piles of clothing that I had on my body already. I looked huge with all
the clothing on, but for once I didn’t care. I was probably one of the
skinniest people I had met and yet I was always feeling fat. It annoyed
me, but it was just another problem that I added on to my list.
I flipped my long black hair over the jacket collar and walked out the
door. I didn’t feel sick but I could tell that I looked sickly. I was
always pale, but I felt even paler than usual, more pasty. I didn’t have
to see what I looked like. I could feel it. I tried to pretend it was a
talent of mine or something, but I knew that some people had to feel the
same way. I wasn’t special, but sometimes pretended that inside that I
was.
I wanted to be intelligent, not crazy. I could never decide which I was.
I said many things that could make a person think and thought up so many
things, but I could never say if it was because I was a genius or just
needed help. Sometimes it just didn’t matter which I was. People form
their own opinions no matter what you tell them to believe. Your actions
can’t even tell people what they should think. They always will create
their own.
As I walked down my empty street, I felt that emptiness again. No lights
from homes shone out onto the dark street. No people drove around or
walked. It was still early, only ten o’clock. I was puzzled until I
decided to no longer think about it and to just go back to my non-caring
state. It was the state that I felt most comfortable in. I had cared so
long about everything that I just had to give up on it. No one cared back
so why should I?
Actually, I’m lying to myself. I cared. I cared a lot about everyone and
everything. I couldn’t help it. That’s who I was and will be for the rest
of my days. That’s if I have any left.
Maybe I cared so I could wake up in the morning and still feel that I had
something left or maybe it was because I actually did. I didn’t want to
be selfish, but that doesn’t mean that I wasn’t. Many people are the
things that they themselves hate. That’s how you learn self-hatred, by
hating the things that you are whether you realize you are those things
or not. Your sub-conscious knows all and I fully believe that.
Tall trees lined the side of the winding street. This had to be my
favorite street. It was so peaceful all the time. Only a few automobiles
would drive on it and even fewer people actually lived on it. I liked
being alone usually.
I didn’t have the need to be surrounded by people at all times. I suppose
it was because I was constantly surrounded when I was younger so I
learned to despise people. I’m not sure why I despised them. Maybe it was
their ignorance or that they hated too much. So many were closed minded,
but I was probably guilty of the things they were. I had to be because I
hate them and I hate them because they hate. Or maybe me hating them for
that reason made me different or better.
I don’t think hatred is the answer though. It’s just something I did
because I couldn’t take it or them anymore. As I walked on, I thought
about everyone and their thoughts. I hated organized religion. They were
against organizations that actually considered themselves cults and yet,
they were similar to a cult. They told people what to believe and if they
didn’t feel that way they threatened them with hell or some awful
imaginary place and circumstance.
Strange how people would listen to it so closely when there was no proof.
I thought it was one of the creations of ignorance. The people couldn’t
think on their own; they depended on their church or temple to tell them
what’s right or wrong instead of having their own morals and values. Why
were those people of the church or temple so much greater than the ones
who only attended? What made them so special and high in command? Were
they perfect? I doubt it. No one knew what perfection was or would I let
someone tell me what I should believe it to be.
Maybe I’m a bad person for saying that religion is a downfall of society
or questioning any of this, but who has been given the right to tell me
that I’m bad? No one that I know of. I know that I don’t have the right
to tell anyone that religion is bad, but I believe it is and will condemn
it even if I don’t condemn its beliefs or the people that follow it. I
believe that people should believe in something and have faith, but it
should be put in themselves before anything else. I looked up to the sky
as I thought about religion and the God that everyone was so quick to
believe in.
No stars shone. It was so completely black. Not even a moon was there for
me. It brought back the feeling of death, but it calmed me this time
instead of making me feel uneasy. It filled me with nostalgia and how
long it had been since I felt someone else’s touch or looked up at the
sky with someone I cared about.
It had been years since he left me. He died too soon. I guess everyone
dies too soon though. When would someone say that it was too late for him
or her to die? Never.
I suppose I could say that it was too late for me to die, though. Yes,
the ever difficult and different me has to be the only to think that it
was too late to die. I never thought I’d live this long. I surely thought
I’d be first, but I guess with him always taking care of me because of my
stupidity wore him out and he needed a rest. I didn’t ask for him to care
for me. I rather would’ve taken care of him, but he wouldn’t allow it.
"You’re too weak," he’d say.
Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t. It didn’t matter then. It was my fault and I
suppose, in a way, I made him weak and killed him. I didn’t give him the
cancer that ate away at him. I was the cancer.
Now he was gone and I was left here, to look at a sky of black alone. I
missed him. I never let anyone know that. In fact, there wasn’t really
anyone to tell. They were all gone already, living their own lives, dying
their own deaths.
The people who were not gone by then didn’t know how many times tears
flooded me so badly that I couldn’t move or have the strength to cry them
out anymore. I was in the worst shape I had ever been in for the entirety
of my horrible life. I only confided in one person and yet she was too
far away to help me. I shouldn’t say that though. She did help me. She
was always there and never left me no matter what I did or said.
I loved her more than my life. It means something because I never hated
life. I loved it. I still do. That’s if I’m alive.
I sat there and still looked up at that sky and then turned my eyes to
the water. It was filled to the shore for once. It hardly ever was at
this time of night. I had to be dead for everything to be so different,
but the more I thought about it the less I believe that it was death. It
couldn’t be.
This was only a part of life, a time for me to reflect on my past and
present and my future. I needed to think. I thought all the time and yet
it never seemed to be enough. Nothing was ever enough for me. I always
needed more. Yet, I didn’t want anything and was quite content with
nothing.
I had lived with nothing but myself. Of course, there was my writing and
reading. They were obsessions. Days and nights would fly by. I didn’t
know how many.
When I came out of my trance it was like nothing had changed. I just had
words in my head or on paper and it was all that mattered. I once was a
good writer. Maybe I’m being modest or maybe I’m being too flattering. It
didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I was doing something that I
loved and I was still able to survive while doing so.
I was never in need of money. He had an excellent job while he was alive
and it helped to support us while most of my money was just for the
extras in life. I didn’t care for material possessions really, except for
those precious books and my paper and pens. They were all I needed. The
times I felt frivolous I bought clothes and jewelry, but as time went on,
it happened less and less.
I would write still if I could. My mind is too filled up and without
inspiration or motivation. It hurts me almost as much as his death and my
wonderful friend leaving me. She didn’t actually leave me but I couldn’t
bear to hurt her anymore. So I left her. I couldn’t deny that any longer.
I suppose I sound old. I’m not. I’m not even 40, yet my mind and body is
far beyond that. Life was harsh and took me away. I have died. Not the
way that I feel that I might’ve just a little while before, but mentally
and emotionally.
Who knows how long I’ve been dead? I don’t. Time has no meaning to me. It
is just there, directing people’s lives and giving them schedules. I’ve
lived without a schedule for so long. I couldn’t even begin to follow
one.
I have no idea why I would even think about these things. They are so
unimportant and meaningless. They hold nothing for anyone else or me. It
made me laugh to think of this stuff. I guess it was one of those laughs
like you expect from a crazy person while their other voices tell them
jokes.
As quickly as I began to laugh, I began to cry. I threw myself to the
asphalt ground and cried and cried. My body rattled and I shivered and
trembled. I couldn’t stop it. I squirmed around on the asphalt, as if I
was struggling with something trying to overtake me.
Suddenly, it stops. Not a part of me moves and the struggle has ended.
Tears no longer fall, they only sit upon my cheeks and stain my palms as
I was trying to hold them inside of me. My breath doesn’t even escape my
lips or rattle my chest. There’s silence and emptiness.
I just lay there. No thought echoes through my head anymore. I’ve thought
enough. This is the real death and I don’t miss the fake one anymore.
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Email: AikaBear@juno.com
