He was tired.
Tired in the sense that only young people could be.
Where everything just seemed to be going nowhere, on repeat, again and again.
Roused from his bed every morning, numbly preparing himself as his brain and body slowly came back to their senses. Then being cast away to spend his daylight hours off in some office, waiting to get out and escape, slowly losing the renewed energy and eagerness that came with each new day and returning home each evening a burdened, weary, and tired heap that couldn't resolve to do anything.
Then, he'd sleep each night, yearning for something better with his active mind and unmotivated self. His thoughts would keep him up, and only after struggling to just keep his eyes shut and still for an invariable amount of minutes, would it stop.
Then he'd be waking up each morning, forgetting it all as the pressing realities of the world forced him to. Stuck in a loop in which no resolution would stick and no progress could be made, always reset each and every day as every nightly revelation faded off in his sleep.
Life just seemed more boring, the world no longer seemed to be as mystical, as endless as it once had. The novelties and excitement of daily life just stopped coming, and slowly but surely, it all began to fall into place, each day ordered and generic, the same in its essence and indifferent to any other day.
So, he was tired, tired of living the same day every day. Just waiting for something to change, knowing full well nothing would.
The weeks went by.
Life deteriorated, it's enjoyment being chipped away piece by piece.
Then, one day, he sat on the fire escape balcony of his brick house apartment, looking down at the street below, full of active cars and people. He held the railing close and peered over the edge, noticing the far fall to the bottom.
His brain contemplated the possibility…
To hop over that railing and start freefalling, dropping down that fatal few hundred feet, before escaping and leaving this world behind him.
Maybe then the cycle would end.
Maybe then he'd find finality. Freedom from a world of restraint and compliance. Freedom from his dead-end job and from his isolated existence.
Maybe then the struggle would end.
He felt his body hop over the railing, beginning to sit on the thin handlebar of the railing as his hand grasped the freezing metal of the escape ladder, the only thing keeping him from losing his balance and ending it all.
An internal conflict arose within him as he, for the first time, seriously began to consider leaping off.
What made this life worth living anyway?
He lived alone, far away from family. He worked at a computer desk all day, checking in and out at the same time, with hundreds of others alike. He ate, watched tv, and slept every day. He was one of billions of people in the world, insignificant in their contributions or actions to society.
He'd abandoned a world of adventure and excitement and left home in an attempt to hit it big in some far-away city, only to have failed miserably with his family and friends long gone, left behind in his idiotic search for nonexistent greatness.
He'd lost his only chance for an otherworldly and exhilarating experience because he'd been arrogant enough to think he'd be that one in a million who'd win the game of life.
What would there be to lose?
Nothing of importance, that was for sure.
The argument to give up became more compelling, more demanding and more deprecative.
It was just that something…
That something which kept him letting go.
Those scissors.
Those scissors, which now, more than ever, called to him as his second chance, as his salvation from this modern dystopia of repetition and consistency.
Those scissors, that had collected dust over as he'd forgotten their existence as Star left those few months ago. A reminder of the vast dimensions and adventures that awaited, of the opportunity he'd sidelined.
He still had them.
They still worked.
His hand searched his pockets before pulling out those scissors, its blades shining golden as it stared back at him.
After all this time…
Maybe.
Just maybe.
He could come back.
(722 words)
A/N: gets a bit morbid for a moment, i'm not entirely sure if i got that vague feeling of 'tiredness' down right, but hopefully it's graspable.
hopefully the ideas or themes of these oneshots are understandable. i don't want to just say the meaning or message behind each one of these, i want to leave it up to interpretation in hopes the point comes across through the short read. problem is i'm still not entirely sure if it does so well, especially when i try to write about more vague and ambiguous things that i think all of us feel from time to time such as here. maybe i need to put more context in the situation or even less, i dunno.
in other notes: 3 days straight, woo!
Sugar: I kinda feel like I'm repeating thank you a lot and being kinda overbearing with it, but seriously, I can't say it enough with all the comments and support you've been giving with my work, even if it is pretty short. ahhh, someday i'll be able to read spanish and finally read your work and (hopefully) return the favor somehow.
Also, thanks to you all for reading!
bye
