This is an exercise in getting into the mind of a character. The story itself isn't that strong but I wanted to put more...personality in the characters I write and I thought that rambling on about their philosophical beliefs wrapped in a one-shot was the right way to do it. Enjoy.
What is the mind, I wondered. A soul with another name? The personality of a person set to a physical construct? The thoughts of a human set to a metaphysical object? Did it even matter? We're so small, so insignificant to the universe, aren't we? Specks of dust on a metaphorical dresser, waiting and wishing for a death – literally being wiped off – because in our hearts we all knew it was inevitable.
But I like to think (and Namine likes to oppose) that we're not metaphorical dust and that we're not insignificant the way others think we are. We're more like a mistake. A spilled cup of water, an accidental paint splatter on a clean canvas. Without us, the universe would be perfect; unhindered, unaffected, unobstructed, ancient artifacts under glass in a museum no one visits. And that's why humanity itself is so great. We are the gods. We are the obstruction in the universe. We can shape it to however we desire and we can exist despite the fact that most things in the universe – and even on Earth – want to see us end. Comets, solar storms, radiation, a lack of oxygen, poisonous gas, uninhabitable planets, temperatures ranging from unimaginably hot to near absolute zero. And that's just the universe at large. On our planet? Deadly animals, insects and plants. Global warming. Industrial smog and waste. Other people. And yet…we're still here. We still breath and live and create and destroy and reproduce and think. We thrive.
"Hell is other people", said Sartre. But I couldn't believe that. Not with someone like Namine in my life. Every day with her is a good one. Like how, on the first day I met her, we ended up having a bonfire at the beach…and got so drunk we woke up in the parking lot of an aquarium 20 miles down the road with no clue how we got there. Or, on the day I asked her out, how she said yes only after punching me in the face for waiting so long. Or how her blue eyes gleam with passion as she paints her thoughts onto a fresh canvas. Or how her skin is oh so soft when I hold her tight. Or how her body fits so well with mine it was like we were made to be together. And then, to combat Sartre's thoughts, there are these things called cities. They're full of people so diverse and so different and everyone's always doing something. I loved cities. You could spend a day people watching and be totally satisfied. Or you could walk around and experience everything, see the sights. So many things happen that it's hard not to get caught up in it. But sometimes that's good, to go with the flow.
All of this came to mind as I watched the sun rise above the treetops like the head of a faming giant. A warm breeze gave Namine and I a pleasant feeling while we just sat in that meadow, steaming cups of coffee in our hands and the grogginess of sleep leaving our bodies minute by minute. "This was a great idea", she whispered. I couldn't agree more.
I had decided to just take an unscheduled week-long vacation in the forest after a particularly stressful month at work made it feel like I was constricted by my worldly tethers. So I popped into my boss's office, told him I couldn't be in for a week, and walked out just like that. I spent the night buying camping supplies and food, packed when I got home, picked up Namine and left. After driving all night I found a trail where, 2 miles in, was a cleared out river bank surrounded by the forest. It was enough empty space for us to set up camp and, with the river, we had drinking water, a place to bathe, and somewhere to swim and spend time. It was perfect.
A week of fresh air, golden sunlight, clear blue water, and togetherness really got me thinkning about things like the nature of the mind and the universe and all that. Namine got into it with me as well. She, naturally, likes to see the world as a painting. The universe is (or was) the clear canvas. Stars, galaxies, planets are randomly dotted around. We're somewhere in a corner, doing our own thing. But there's a set plan for everyone. An artist couldn't paint a picture of people with free will, so why would they have it? I didn't buy into that. I had free will. Everyone had free will.
"I have the free will to walk away from you right now" I threatened.
"Will you?" her eyebrow was raised, incredulous.
"Nope."
~!~
A few days into our trip, a magical thing happened; it stormed. Now, neither of us had ever been stranded in the forest, nor had we ever been outside for an extended period of time while it rained. But that night was one of the first nights in a long time that I felt truly alive. The wind whipped the trees around and beat against the tent. The rain soaked through the ground, through our skin to our bones, through to our mind. The lighting illuminated the sky and thunder shook the earth. We huddled together for warmth and eventually it lead to making love right then and there. With all that surrounding us and being so intimate, I felt connected to the entire world.
When the sun rose on the next day, I had to shield my eyes – it was more powerful than I've ever seen it. She was lying on my chest breathing in and out, in and out, a steady stream of air entering and escaping her lungs. In the winter when breath is visible, I'd sometimes just stare at her breath to see that she was still breathing. I did the same to myself too. The state of living is similar to the state of being deceased, only with the former having much more breathing than the latter. Who's to say that thought doesn't continue after death? Motion ceases but the mind doesn't. Maybe.
The role of a philosopher is to ask questions and answer them all at once. Questions of life and love and happiness and death and the nature of the universe in and of itself. The role of the mind is to take host to these musings and discover them inside each of us. The role of Namine is to be herself, and mine is to be myself. And ours is to be together. The role of the forest is to bring all that together.
As usual, I hate the ending of my story but the story wasn't the important part this time. I tried getting into Roxas' head (or, at least, my interpretation of him). Comments/reviews are appreciated.