Free

It’s been a while since I last went to the library but, for some reason, I found myself walking through those glass doors and being met with the smell of old books. I figured I might as well look around and check something out since I had nothing better to do. Usually I have a title in mind or at least a genre. This time, however, I was mindlessly wandering up and down the aisles of shelves full of books that didn’t seem to peak my interest.

    Just as I’m about to leave since I can’t even find a reason to stay, something flashes in the corner of my eye. The sun hit a single book in the most illuminating and frighteningly perfect way that made me think that it was fate. Fate is not a word I normally use or think of so I felt compelled to read that book. Reading has been an escape for me since I could remember. I’ve experienced so many different genres, plots, and worlds but I had a feeling this was something that would be imprinted in my memory forever.

     I read it cover to cover and at first I thought it was just another book where the hero defeats the villain and the villain is forgotten as if they were barely an obstacle for the almighty hero. I thought that those kinds of plots are overdone, though I’m probably not gonna stop reading them. The story contained in those pages depicted a villain who was the most human character I had ever read of and a hero who, despite their enormous and unfounded ego and luxurious lifestyle, was praised by all. The villain didn’t get a happy ending or even a chance for redemption. The hero, however, went on living their life and slaying “monsters” and “menaces” to humanity as if death was inevitable for the inhumane.

    It was a short book but it led me to crave for more. I scoured the shelves for an author that could describe the inherent nature of humanity. I read countless works on human behaviour and philosophical texts on what humanity might be, should be, wants to be. It turns out that no one knows anything about being human. No one knows anything really. Rather than pessimism or a superiority complex or even just blaming the world, I came to this conclusion.

We think we perceive the world, our problems, our thoughts, our emotions, our memories, and our dreams, but all we see is a smokescreen we put up ourselves that creates a thin veil of delusion in what we believe is our purpose in this world. The intangible taunts us, smirking as it watches our hands almost grasping the big clue, but giving a boisterous laugh when we inevitably fail. The role of hero and villain blurs and all we can say is that the enemy wins again. We end up on our knees racking our brains for solutions and find ourselves begging and pleading with whatever we perceive as our captor. 

I’m not one to think like this nor give into them, but the train of thought I created ran through a dark tunnel whose light at the end of the tunnel kept dimming as if I was going opposite from it. I know my fate and I accepted the anxious thoughts that invaded my brain. Only the nervous rhythm of my feet tapping syncing with the beating of my heart and my loud huffing filled my ears as the time neared. My vision started to blacken and I could feel my existence vanishing. 

as the end arrived

a voice bellowed into the void as if it was in pain

yet freed from its constraints