“When you’re young, you believe yourself immortal” Memories from My child hood flash through my head. 14 years of age, I was such a tomboy. Short hair, dirt covered jeans, racing alongside my peers bolting across the field. A race, an expression of our youth done merely because we could, the sun against our backs our lungs pounding, we were strong. I lay in my bed 21 years later, staring up at the ceiling in my one room home. False stars made of cheap plastic give a dull glow, staring back at me.
“I mean all humans know they are going to die one day, but deep down we don’t really believe it. It’s like we’re programed to have faith in our continual existence, we believe our life is ours alone and not even death has the right to take it.”
I close my eyes and picture more scenes’ from my past, the friends I had made, the friends that have gone. Me driving with them down lone roads, yelling nonsense because we could, smiling, laughing.
“I think that’s why we so often put off what’s important in life, why we hold off on our dreams and ignore our passions. We believe we have for ever to fulfill our self’s. And then…” Holding my hand to my face I observed it, delicate and soft, this was me.
“One day you wake up in the dead of night. You realize my god! My life is half over and I’ve accomplished nothing.”
My arm gets heavy and my hand falls on my forehead. I let out a defeated sigh, I look over to my work cloths sitting rumpled on a chair. An apron, the simple garb of a store clerk.
“But even then we don’t learn do we? We still have shreds of our youth still left. We think Oh well I have 40 more years to go, still plenty of time. Knock off ten years to account for being too old to do shit, then slice the remaining number in half to account for you sleeping through half of that, now account for the time you spend taking a shit, being stuck in traffic, going to work, watching tv, eating food. And you realise, you never had anywhere near forty years to begin with.”
I stared at the ceiling as if I were a corpse, not moving, barely breathing. Was I…tearing up? God I’m so pathetic.
“I have…no one, and nothing to live for. What am I doing with my life?”
Two hours pass; sleep refused to visit tonight it was already 2:00. I think of all the old people I saw on the bus yesterday their eyes vacant. No different from the 30 year old janitor I saw in the store, mopping stains off the ground. The worlds filled with broken aspirations, un fulfilled humans envious of the few who did something worth remembering. And I am one of them, I am the norm just another zombie in this joke they call life. I was going to grow old doing this nonsense; I was going to die being a store clerk. Grow old and die…is that all humans are good for?
“No there is no such thing as old humans, only old bodies.” I Thought, You can see it in the eyes of the elderly; some still retain a fire to them. I imagine their spirits one wish, to break free from the shackles of mortality and run, if they could I would imagine, the souls of those with old bodies; would run faster and higher than the souls of the youngest most fit humans.
Another hour passes; finally my tired body agrees to sleep. As my eyes close thoughts began to fade to nonsense.
“Human life is too damn short. Our life spans mock our potential.” I sighed again.
“Fuck it, what’s my rambling going to do? I don’t even know what I want in life, never had. Probably never will.” I fell asleep, the plastic stars on my ceiling, were still glowing.
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