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Rick and Morty: Existentialism
After a long, bland day at school, Morty was relieved to be at home again. He threw his backpack on his bed before going to the garage to see if Rick wanted to go on an adventure today. Morty did, that was for sure.
Morty opened the door, when he came across Rick sitting in his work chair. He wasn't working on anything, or talking on his interdimensional phone. He just sat in a slumping position, like how you'd put your arms on the desk as a makeshift pillow, except Rick was facing forward, rather than to the side.
Rick was observing the ever-changing world outside the garage door. Specifically, he was looking at a kid on the front lawn of a house across the road trying to put both his legs behind his head. Rick let out a small chuckle. He then looked downward and sighed softly before lifting his head a couple inches so he could motion his hand toward the flask on the table, which he swished around a little before taking a sip, placing his gaze back on the kid.
Morty had always wondered why Rick drank. It didn't seem to be just for the taste, or the feeling of getting drunk just for the hell of it. There must've been a deeper reason. Morty never asked Rick about his alcoholism before because he didn't want to be rude. There were many things Morty wanted to ask, but held back for the same reason.
However, Morty felt especially curious today. He walked up to Rick, who didn't seem to notice Morty, and shook his shoulder gently. "Rick? You ok?"
"Huh? Oh, I'm-I'm fine, Morty."
"C-can I ask you a question, Rick?"
"Shoot."
"I-I don't mean to bring up bad memories or anything negative, but why-why do you drink, Rick?"
Rick wasn't expecting Morty to ask him this question. He sort of thought Morty hadn't asked before because he was the kind of kid that felt bad when asking personal questions. Rick looked down at his flask and was silent for what was about thirty seconds before capping his drink, placing it in his coat pocket, and swiveling his chair around to face Morty.
"Listen, Morty. I don't expect you to understand, not because I think you're stupid or something, but because you haven't been through what I've been. *sigh*. A long time ago, forty-something years ago, grandpa was a different person. He was like everyone else, believing that life was the most precious thing in the universe. (This was before I developed the portal gun, by the way.) What we made of life was it's meaning. Everyone believed that. But, when I was in my twenties, I developed the portal gun, and-and everything about me changed Morty. At first, the new worlds and dimensions were so alien, so new, filled with this feeling of amazement and unpredictability. That's when I met your grandmother, Morty."
"Wait, Rick. You-you never talk about grandma. Are you gonna tell what she was like?"
"No, Morty. That's a story for another time. Anyway, your grandma and I fell in love, got married, had Beth. ... *sigh* but she died on me, Morty. Bitch died on me. I didn't want to believe it, Morty, but I couldn't do anything. I left your mother soon after and I lived through dimensions since then. After getting acquaintanced with the Galactic Federation, I've seen so much death. So much of my friends died. So much of my enemies died. I've seen myself die. I realized life has no meaning, Morty. Our fate will never change, no matter what we do. We're all gonna die eventually, and there's no escape. Life can't exist without death, birth can't exist without death, you can't exist without death. I drink because it stops the pain, Morty. "
"Life is a lie, fueled by hope."