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Challenge
Write a story in which something is heavily implied about a character, and at the end turn that presumption on its head.
Cover image for post perspective., by alyptik
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alyptik

perspective.

QUICK NOTE:

Wow, this challenge is fucking awesome, I have no idea why there's only one entry. Thank you @MiGGiE for putting this on my feed :] I hope this counts D: I'm not that great at writing coherent stories, lmao. Oh well, on to the story!

______________________________________________________________

it was easter morning

april 5th in the 2015th year of our lord

or at least in the year of someone's lord

on this tiny—but huge—pale, blue dot.

twenty-four years is quite far

from what many would call a long-time on this earth

but it is still an eternity spent dealing with equal-parts bullshit and rapture

only to learn not long after that the rapture was bullshit too.

experiencing ever and over what i had finally thought

was the great epiphany of life;

only to see that it was actually just naivety and stupidity

superimposed upon each other into one beautiful, captivating mirage.

learning morals by drowning in failure.

learning love from the subtext of the hatred within humanity.

learning humility by disgust towards those who lacked it.

learning life-skills from the ridicule brought on by lack thereof.

it is kind of funny how every year i had thought to myself,

"fuck me, i was such a stupid kid!"

laughing at mistakes and misfortunes

wondering how that could have ever been me.

it is also quite funny how this happened

over and over and over and fucking over

'till the laughter felt empty and cold

and the wonder was too much to bear.

and then i got tired

of myself

of the lessons learned so quickly

of the lessons forgotten even faster

moments and eternities

gasping for purpose

begging for enlightenment

hoping beyond hope

and then i was nothing.

just tired.

just cold.

just broken.

but maybe that's what it takes

maybe you can’t ever know happiness

until agony has taken you

until despair has crushed you.

because suddenly i was.

i don't even fucking know

what the fuck i was at that moment

too much, too little, too late.

but i was.

and i felt alright

i felt content

i felt ok.

and so i took a deep breath

i walked outside into the harsh glare

and i just walked

i walked and walked and walked.

and walked

until my legs screamed and my lungs cried

until my heart stopped and my soul died

and then i walked some more.

and fuck if i knew where

or why

or what the fuck i was walking to.

i walked anyway.

i was tired

but for some reason,

i didn't give a fuck.

as if my destination mattered more than the stars.

lost in my own thoughts i stumbled,

at first i thought my own ignorance was at fault,

but as i pulled myself to my feet i cursed

seeing a small object glinting in the sun.

anger

rage

hatred

wrath.

it all blurred together

as i scrambled to focus it all

my animosity, my hubris

upon what deserved no less.

but

but

fuck

fuck.

i couldn't

i don't know

fuck.

what the fuck is this shit?

it was an egg

a cliche of the highest degree

a lonely, exhausted symbol of the day

so stale, worn, and sad

but

at the same time

as fucking hypocritical as it sounds

to me it wasn't

because scribbled on its shell

in an almost-unintelligible font

were fifteen words

fifteen tiny pieces of the vast, english language.

"Hello stranger whoever you are, I just want you to know that I love you.”

as I tried to lift myself to my feet

each word floored me anew;

to this day i don't know why but those words cut me

deeper than any blade ever could.

my knees buckled

my eyebrows furled

and for a few minutes

i just was.

usually, i would just scoff

and spout some pretentious bullshit like,

"fucking kids and their comma splices;

independent clauses should be joined by semicolons!"

but for some reason

for some strange, fucking insanity

that was too much for me to comprehend.

i understood too much.

how our entire world is shaped

by little chemical interactions in our brains.

our lives, our entire stream of consciousness

nothing but stochastic particles and our prosaic aplomb.

so much for the meaning of life.

so much for this hungry conscience

so much for this lustful hope.

but at least you can't break

what's already broken.

yet, no matter the imperfections

inherent in the human condition.

no matter if your sins slew your saints,

it's never too late

to go out and love someone.

i guess that i never realized

just how tiny everything really was.

all the intellect in the world was fucking shallow.

all the metaphors and prose unimportant;

when put in perspective.