Jump to content

My next short story, set in a similar universe, "Existent." Enjoy. - Writers Nook

Recommended Posts


Sometimes when I'm alone and the world seems vacuous and empty, I think about what will happen when I'm dead. And then I begin to think about being nothing and my entire being never existing again. My brain spirals down into a state where I feel worthless, knowing that once I die I'll be nothing at all. It makes my skin quiver and my stomach churn and then I try to think of something else, afraid I will be consumed by the overwhelming nature of such existential thinking.

I'm not sure if I ever will be happy, not at this rate. I'm also not sure if I ever will be meaningful. These thoughts only lead me back to when I die. I can't help but think about it. The unknown, the seemingly incomprehensible. It sings at me like a bird. And I look up at the heavens and think, 'I am a part of the entire existence, and all that exists will become nothing. I am everything and everything is nothing at all.'

Then I start to think about how conceited it is to think like that, to call myself important. But is anything important? And if nothing is important including me then why not think of myself as important? By that point it's the end of the day and I curl up alone in bed and let my eyelashes tangle and hold my eyelids shut until I lose consciousness. I hope that when I die it will be like dreaming forever.

Last night I had one of these bouts of existentialism. I fell into sleep and dreamt of dogs barking in the middle of the night at the Moon and the Moon reflecting the calls off to the Sun like a satellite dish orbiting the Earth orbiting the Sun. And the Sun heard the dogs' barks and it thought that they were the most beautiful noises it had ever heard. And it glowed brighter, but the light never reached the dark side of the earth where the dogs howled hollowly. Then they starved to death before the Sun came over the horizon, never there to see the bright shining sunrise of golds and reds. But, then again, they were just dogs, and couldn't appreciate a sunrise or a sunset as an abstract idea or sentiment.

I woke up this morning to the sunlit lines of the venetian blinds sliding in and out of existence on my face. The wind was blowing through them, causing them to sway and their separate shadows to mould together. It was mesmerizing, and I thought that the lack of pattern in their movement, the sheer randomness of it all was inspiring. I sat up in bed and watched the dust particles slide through the shafts of light. I felt like a certain Faithful Elephant as I imagined that I was God and each little dust particle was a world. How easy it would be just to let out a strong burst of air and eviscerate them all, spinning the inhabitants off the dizzy worlds into the vacuum of my bedroom. It was a humbling thought and I stood up carefully so as to not disturb the Whos on each and every speck in the air.

I went to find my scrubs, an ultramarine blue stronger than the most saturated picture taken of the Gulf of Mexico. They were folded as I had left them after washing them. I slid them on and finished making myself presentable for work. I ate a bagel with strawberry spread while driving to the hospital in my Toyota Prius. I think about the fact that 'Prius' is Latin for 'the first' and I think 'the first of what?' It doesn't matter as I get to the parking lot and walk to the building. The walls are white everywhere and I dislike that. If I were a patient at the hospital I would be sad all day in my white walled, floored and ceilinged room. If I owned a hospital, there would be spots of colour everywhere.

Within my own thoughts about the world and existence, helping sick people doesn't make much sense. If nothing matters and life is a strange flicker of existence on a long string of nothingness, then why help someone to stay alive? Their glimmer is obviously over. But for some reason it feels good for me to help these people. Also, I remember how afraid I feel when I think about dying and wonder if they feel that way too. Afraid isn't the right word though, it's more like-- well, I can't think of a word to describe the feeling. English has many limitations as a language and I shrug it off as I clock in for work.

During the course of the day the beeps resound, echoing down the hallways like little birds chirping back and forth at each other. They are communicating, sending calls between each other that we have learned to interpret. However, these are our birds, built by our hand and out of our own material. Because we create robots and machines, are we not all Gods ourselves? We just don't play a cruel joke on our creations by giving them free will. And that is really where all my problems stem.

Why would any God give his creations a choice to love him or not? Why would any God create people destining them to hell? It makes no sense, unless you look at it from a religious stand point. What better way to keep us in check than to threaten our eternal souls?

It doesn't work for me because souls aren't eternal. They die. I see people die weekly. When they are gone, they are gone. Souls don't leave when someone dies, it is their soul dying that causes their body to die. Their soul is what keeps their heart pumping blood through their veins and into each and every organic cell in their bodies. It isn't something that flies around and goes to heaven or hell. Why would either of those places ever even exist? Even from a figurative viewpoint? My soul is my will to live.

As such, does that mean that I am continuing to live completely by choice? Yes, it does. I choose to not swallow cyanide or hang myself. I choose to continue this phenomenon. But then if my soul is my choice to live then is that what God gave us? A soul, a choice between nothingness and a worthless existence?

I have so many questions my mind is exploding and I think I'll never find my answers. The only thing that seems to feel right is helping people. Connecting, tying my string to theirs in the short time I have, in the hopes that our lines will remain connected after we die. I hope that is how it is: an eternal meeting with everyone you've been tied to. That would be enough for me.


You write good...^^
Like It...

  • Create New...