There was once a young boy who was born onto a planet much like Earth. This planet was not located within the Milky Way, but within another galaxy far from it. The society this boy was born into was much like the one those living in the United States currently experience. The boy was an avid thinker. He thought all the time about everything; outer space, the human brain, why the human race has done what it has done, the origin of everything, the meaning of it all, and whether any of it was real or just an illusion. If this was an illusion, what was real? If this was real and we were meant to be here, why did we not inherently know why?
The boy went through his life relatively happily just doing what the rest of his human counterparts did, just moving through society normally while still being baffled by it all. He didn’t know what else to do. He wasn’t comfortable being part of a collective, but not being part of it was very dangerous thing to do within his society. He didn’t have the answers, so he did what he thought smart and continued living the life he was born into. He began to wonder more and more, though; specifically about death. The rest of the humans held many theories about death, but the boy saw them as their own and only their own, and he was not convinced by them. He believed everybody should have their own belief about life and death. His belief of death was that it was great and mysterious, and not as morbid most humans thought it to be. He wondered what exactly humans feared about death that they would try so hard to avoid it. His race knew nothing about death, and he supposed that’s why they were afraid.
The boy began to think more about the idea of an afterlife and the meaning of the current life. He was overwhelmed by not only the number of theories about this, but by the ferventness in which the people preaching these ideas did so. Were these people that convinced that they were right and everyone else wrong? Did they truly believe, without a doubt, these theories they were suggesting were true? If so, how did they become so certain? Was it just their personality? Did they have something special that others did not, and if so what was it? At this point, the boy became so bewildered that he pushed it all away. He was convinced that no one had the answers, including himself. He retracted within himself, convinced that none of this mattered anyway. He could not stand not knowing the origin and meaning of his existence (as most of the human race could not), and at the same time he was sure the people convinced they knew it were insane, literally ill.
He contemplated his sureness about this, and found that by being sure he was ill as well. He was once again convinced that there was no finite truth, only perspective… as sure as he could be, without violating the rule. He wondered if, at this point it mattered anymore. Did it matter why we were here if we could never figure it out anyway? Should we just concentrate on what we do know, and therefore solve the more direct problems of our age? This seemed a great idea to the boy, but the rest of the world was wrapped up in what they were doing that they just ignored him. He now, more than ever, found the place he inhabited to be insipid, uninspired, and most of all, blind. He, once and for all, decided he would rid himself of the world he was not proud to be a part of, as he fell softly and comfortably into death.
To be continued…
PS. This story is not finished. It is a very sloppy draft. It will be added to and the contents of it thus far will change. I feel it needs to entertain more, and ramble less. I do not have a name for the character(s) because I just tried to pour the story out before dealing with the details. I may choose not to give the boy a name because I feel him not having a name may give the story a better feel. Finally, I hope it is acceptable and thanks for reading.
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