Chapter 47
1027words
Everything was created by something for a reason, the universe, each planet in it, specifically earth, the clouds we see when we look up, and then there's us, the cogs.
How easy we live when there are still so many questions left unanswered, what caused the Big Bang? If God created all of this then who created him? Are we really the only planet in a sea of worlds lucky enough to have this much life on it?
7 billion lives can never compare to what the universe actually is, but yet we're expected to just be. Don't question it, it happened and now we're here, who are we to complain? We're those that don't actually want to be here, the ones who understand that this world and all the
ones around it are much bigger than we are. A life made with no road map, and yet expected to excel. How can we live when we know we're insignificant, destined to do nothing, predetermined to fail at absolutely everything-
"Devin take your pills, Honey" my mother drops the bottles in front of me "I told you I stopped taking those days ago, I hate them"
"Well, you sat down and haven't said a word the last 20 minutes, just lost staring at nothing and not
touching your food."
"Can I ask you something?" I turn to her as she walks around the kitchen putting things away
"No, I don't think your death will be caused by a mental void." She answers as if she knew what I was going to ask
"You don't know that but what I was going to ask is, what do you think happens after we die?" "Why do all your questions have to do with death?"
"Do you think souls are real? And if so what if after death our souls just get sent to another planet, but this one is just filled with souls? Like a bunch of bright lights just floating around" I smile at the thought, "doesn't that sound amazing?"
"It sounds like it makes no sense Devin, just please take your pills."
"Mom!" I stand up "drugs that mess with your mental state doesn't help, people can't help depression all right? It's something that's somehow always there. Instead of trying to numb it for a couple of hours, why can't we try to understand it? I'm not going to keep taking three pills a day to suppress something incurable."
"If it's always there then why aren't I depressed?"
"Maybe you are, maybe you're in denial about it for my sake"
"All right then we're all depressed, now will you take your meds?"
"I'm gonna go for a run instead," I walk away heading to the door picking up my running shoes. "You're wearing jeans"
"Maybe if the strings on my sweatpants weren't out to get me I'd wear them instead," I reply putting
on and tying my shoes.
"But the..." she points to my shoes, "you know what? Forget it" she walks away.
opening the door I walk out of the house but stop on my porch when I notice the moving van next door, oh great more tightly wound sheep to join the herd. As I stare a guy walks out of the house walking to the truck, turning he sees me from my porch and waves. Waving back I whisper "welcome to the machine, cog."
Walking down my steps I slowly take off.
Here's why I like running even though I should hate it, conforming to the ideals of depression means the lack of wantingness and neverending dread, which I feel pretty much every day. But how do you think about nothingness when you're doing nothing? It's honestly harder than it sounds. When I'm too still I'm thinking, and when I'm thinking it's about how much death is probably a sweet relief, and we should all look forward to it. But my mom says because I say my thoughts out loud that shouldn't be something I want to say so, therefore, I run so I won't talk about death.
And yeah if I love death so much why don't I just off myself, right? We all want to die but I'm the only coward to admit self-inflicted pain isn't my favorite, so I wait patiently for my time because it will be... ethereal.
My runs are never too long, just a couple miles then I turn back. My mom worries when I'm gone too long, she says it's for my safety but honestly I think it's because I'm all she has, and that's saying a lot because I'm not that much. Finally, back on my street, I notice the moving truck is gone, good for them for doing it so fast but seriously what a mistake. Who would want to live here?
"Hi" I'm greeted when I get to the front of my house, it's the guy from earlier sitting on my steps, smiling.
"Is that a muffin?" I ask stopping in my tracks
He nods "it's for you, my mom said I should meet you since we waved to each other earlier." Getting up he hands me the muffin "weird" I stare at it.
"Is it?" He sits back down and I ignore the question, "I'm Ryan, what's your name?" "Blueberry muffin" I reply and he chuckles, "that's what my mom calls me at least."
"Are you sure it's not Devin Hammersmith?" I stare at him and he points to our mailbox, "either that or Darcy Hammersmith, but you don't
strike me as a Darcy."
"Reading other people's mail is a felony, stranger"
"I think that only applies to what's inside the envelope" ok maybe he's not a sheep, but it's still too early to tell. Walking up my steps I stop at my door and he stands and turns to me, "I actually start at the high school on Monday, maybe we could walk together and you show me around?"
"That won't be possible" "Why not?"
"I'm homeschooled" he looks at me surprised, "yep all the joys of learning unnecessary propaganda,
minus the social anxiety and the need to interact with others."
