A. Note: Are these kind of stories still a thing? Yes they are!
No, I do not own the license of the Persona Series and related IP.
Enjoy.
O N E – How Problems are Created and The Purpose of Communication
Often has been said the human mind fabricates problems when bored. Whether it's a fixation for emotional masochism or inhibition to accept normalcy; people (and not all people – in given definition) find some form of spiritual fulfillment from the tiniest of inconveniences. Instantaneous gratification rewarded from overcoming so-called 'life struggles' — supposedly - bestows purpose to a person in the same capacity Muhammed, Buddha or Jesus experiencing their revelations after a fatal (or near proxemic) meeting with death. Narcissistic martyrdom. It has been embedded into the psyche of modern society since Steve Jobs birthed the first-generation iPhone. Yet the concept of obsessing qualities individuals lacked or over-compensating has long perpetuated the moment mankind can string complex thoughts and ideas into legible words viable for conversation. One man named Robert Trivers christen this theory as "Reciprocal Alturism".
"Fundamentally speaking, communication is an act of sacrifice."
At the far side-corner of the classroom where he sat, Wallace Wright observed Mahmoud Assad as he presented his take on the ethics of communication. Unobstructed from his fellow classmates whom spread across all eight tables that form a mini-amphitheater, he watched Mahmoud leaned on the edge of Ms. Ozawa's desk. Looking at the way his fingers curved as they brace against the wooden surface. Noticing the crinkle around his eyes were broader than the subtle smirk on gracing his lips. Wallace connected points, lines and impressions in his mind that every time his eyes were shut, he can clearly see him still. A lot of people are physical attracted towards Mahmoud. Some ventured into crush territory. For Wallace, it wasn't the immaculate man-bun, chiseled jawline or eyes deep as the abyss that drew him in. More so a magnetic polarity. Inevitability. Fate. He isn't religious nor a believer of soul mates, but all signs pointed the two of them were meant be together.
"Honestly, the man is naïve and a two-dimensional schmuck."
People laughed. Some harder than others. With a simple raise of a hand and the laughter slows down into an anticipated silence. Mahmoud continued explaining the definition of altruism and the benefits it has in an ideal society. "If we all in this were to truly like each other and believe we're friends, most of us are willing to help one another purely on charity and not the need to re-affirm our supposed 'friendship', don't you think?" he asks. Most agree with one or two say nah; Wallace didn't say anything as he continued to watch presentation gradually unfurl. Swapping anecdotes between communication being a tool for power-dynamics and Capitalism with social commentary on validation.
"Everything has a price: from our clothes to this classroom to the air we inhale. Communication is a sacrifice - paying personal stories and secrets in exchange for power. Information is the currency on how society works. To be poor but honest, or rich and deceptive. An oversimplification description, but a valid point nevertheless. No matter our inner-Marxists resist that society is driven by commodity; survival is determined by what we have in surplus in reserves and the value. Hence problems – the inner shadows and repressed truths stirring in our psyche – is simply a platform to communicate and garner power… Questions?"
Nobody asks; they clapped instead. Enthusiastically.
He'd settled on to the table next to Wallace after closing and logging off from the computer. Ms. Ozawa commented the theory and justification, though excellent, was more style than substance. "Less slang and more professional talk, Mr. Assad. Overall, people should take a page from your book when presenting. Good work!"
The bell rang and people bounded to the door as they were being sucked in (or out) towards the hallways. Wallace – middle of sliding his notebook in his bag – heard a voice appeared next to him, begging the question "What do you think?"
To no surprise - or possibly a few with the number of raised eyebrows and widen eyes aimed towards their direction – it was Mahmoud asking. Pen and notebook in his left hand ("No backpack in sight… must be a minimalist…" Wallace mentally pondered). He shrugged and responded back by asking why. Mahmoud chuckled, clearly amused as the smirk turned ever-so-slightly upwards at the corner of his lips. "You had this stare aimed me. Intense you can say. Like you tried to remember me like I was easy to forget." Wallace quipped it's hard to forget somebody like him. "Well…" he clicked, "I'm easy to forget more than you can imagine. Wallace, right? I know… terrible of me to not know your name, especially as we're juniors now… we don't run around the same social circles."
"Pretty much." Wallace shrugged once more. "Yeah, it's Wallace, happy to know my name now?"
"After that talk, objectively I could say yes and walk away knowing who's the mystery boy looking at me."
"So what's stopping you?"
There was a short silence. Accented by Mahmoud looking out towards the window, a pondering looking behind the reflection of clouds and trees on his glass's lenses. A sharp tooth tugged against the corner of his lips as he looked back down, smile shifted slightly once more – yearning. "Maybe you? Maybe my curiosity? Cheesy at it may sound, you seemed different."
"Hardly," Wallace snorted. Mild disbelief emphasized on the sound of 'Har…'. "I'm boring."
"I beg to differ. You've got Terry Jefferson for Photography? Seen some of your work and I say, and I say this out-loud: "This guy knows how to take a picture well."
By then Wallace had slid his notebook into his bag and they were out the door. Wallace taking long stride as Mahmoud tries to catch up. Offhandedly mentioning they're just pictures and he simply likes photography. "Things are not always deep like the way you talk about philosophy…"
"True, but that doesn't mean it's not deep itself. Compacted probably."
They walked out the entrance, waded through the moving current of students leaving or waiting around the quad, and into the car-park. Two of them trading personal tidbits on likes and interests ( "I don't believe rejection of the Male Gaze empowers women in film and photography…" Mahmoud explained) until reach a demure Audi A3 sedan in grey. "German, you rich?"
"My sister's… gotten another speeding ticket. My parents decided best if I drove it instead."
"What does she do?"
"Studying Law."
"The irony."
"Indeed."
Silence settles between the two as Wallace opened the front passenger door and tossed his bag in. Looking back Mahmoud, he rests his arms against the door frame and nests his chin in-between. They stared and stared for minutes that could've turned into hours until Wallace's phone began to ring. On the screen was his Mom.
"Do you mind if-"
Mahmoud cuts him off with a kiss. Tentative at first. Wallace pulls back, breathes slightly. Goes in and kisses him again. Deeper. With tongue.
By no means kissing Mahmoud in a public space close to 4 p.m. had lifted his spirits to the heavens as every film in history depicted. However, for Wallace, it became almost primal. Second nature. His hands gripped Mahmoud head. He wanted more.
In this kiss, emotions came trickling in. Indistinctly different from adrenaline, at first. Bits and pieces of shapeless memories in many shades of grey, completely foreign and in alien language. Like watching a film with scenes only drawn in faded out pencil lines and being put on extreme fast-forward. Muted virtually. Suddenly it stops when Mahmoud lets go. Disappointed, but only by the corner of his lips.
"Sorry, we've just talked for the first time… but I was curious." He says.
"Do you do that to everyone you meet?"
"Just the good-looking ones." He winked. "Anyways, see you around?"
"Yeah. See you around."
Mahmoud waved as he headed towards the quad. His back facing towards Wallace as he watched him like the sun sinking into the horizon. A blue butterfly landed next on top of his car. Wings gently flapping; a distinctive shade of deep blue, fluorescent in the daylight. Interested, Wallace took a quick snap with smartphone before being interrupted by another call from his Mom. He answers with "Hey Mom…" as he closed the door. Shaking the butterfly as it flutters back into the air.
CREDITS
Wallace Wright - Cat The Alien
Mahmoud Assad - Cat The Alien
This story has been churning in my head for sometime. Even though SYOC can written off as lazy or desperate for readers (and to some extent, comments); I genuinely enjoy them as it gives writers a chance to interact with people and collaborate on content for a common fandom. Hence the stories feel more valuable and richer as we putting our own creativity and inspiration into the character we submit and their stories.
Anyways, I've been fascinated with the Persona world and lore and was curious if it were put 'Americanized' setting, especially in current times like these. The themes explored from P1 to P5 and associated IP within the SMT franchise do have roots from western philosophers and psychology like Kafka, Freud and Jung. Hence the reason why I want to write this particular story is because my fascination for human sciences and position I am in life. So many things had happened that influenced my writing for the better.
Enough of that, you want to know what this story is about.
How to Solve Our Human Problems is my take of a 'typical' Persona story. Inspired by 'The Subtle Art of Not Giving A F***' by Mark Manson and the album Masseduction by St. Vincent. This fanfic explores the human psyche on problems and how it affects our control on a situation. Whether it's emotional problems and your ability to socialize and reach to people, financial and how it limits your potential to enjoy life, or physical and how impacts a person ability to move through life. Every problem a person experience causes them to feel powerless and unable to control. And as human, it's hard to accept we aren't in control of something that not under our grasp. Hence it's about acceptance.
Taking place in a large metropolitan city somewhere in the east coast of America, the story follows a colorful cast of teenagers struggling in their passage to adulthood as they succumb towards vices that hinder their personal journey. Brought together by two mysterious individuals competing to restore a monument called the 'Tower of Babel' by finding the '7 Virtues of Humanity' within the Metaverse. All while a great disaster slowly emerges from the background.
This isn't a first come first serve story. I'll be focusing on the quality of characters as there are limited spots available. Character submissions will be done via PM; more information is provided in my bio.
If you have any questions and in need of more detail about the story, feel free to drop me a message and I'll get back to you.
Once again, thank you for reading and I'll get the next chapter up soon.
-Cat