Thought i'd give the meaning of life a go at 1am.
In a dark storeroom, a box of wooden body parts jolts and shuffles until out of it emerges a mannequin, brought to life by some unknown power. The newborn's joints jerk and creak as she emerges from the box and shuffles to her flat feet, knock knock knocking on the ground as she takes her first steps. At first she thinks this is a blessing. Some divine power had granted her life and all of the wonders that come with it.
But then she sees a head just like hers staring back at her from another box. She drops to her knees and picks up the head, looking it over as she pondered the meaning of her existence.
There she knelt, assembled from bits and pieces forged from wood that existed long before she did, fitted together from the plans of a designer. A process that she had no role in and was for all intents and purposes, alien to her.
Now, much like a piece of driftwood, she finds herself cast into an apathetic world; into an environment that alternates between parental and hostile but remains as her conception was, out of her control.
Her lips silently contort as her introspection leads her into a split corridor. Conflicting views of the inside and the outside force her to tremble. The inside casts her as the lead character in this story. The fair heroine at the centre of this universal play. Meanwhile, the outside lowers the curtains down on her, casting her in shade and placing pressure on her role. How, after all, can she be of such significance, when she is the product of forces and processes that were around before she even existed; a mere twig caught in the flow.
Booted from her own central role, she pondered what possible meaning the life of a dejected mannequin could have, her arms tightening around her sisters head as she found...nothing. She could dedicate herself to a job, making her life a hub of activity as she filled her existence with little goals and minor purposes. Though she realised that ultimately, these goals and purposes aimed merely to repeat themselves. A meaningless role.
Perhaps then, she could dedicate herself to a single life goal, a task that would grant a grand purpose to her little life. Her mind swam with possibilities but stopped short all too quickly. What happens when she completes this purpose? Any meaning it infused to her life would be lost forever and what would be more tragic than that?
By taking this path, she deduced that her life would only have meaning if she either failed to complete whatever it is that would give it meaning, or when she was still working towards it. Thus, she further deduced, her life was by necessity, meaningless. She would always by striving for what she could not have.
She kissed her sisters head and lay it down to rest in the box, shakily climbing back to her feet and hobbling away. She moved as a fractured, broken creature. Unable to make sense of herself. Unable to reconcile the significance she found on the inside, with the tyrannical gaze of eternity that seemed to suck her dry of meaning and purpose. Was this all she could expect?
An empty life, devoid of direction? She found herself on the train-ride of life and she didn't like where it was going. This wasn't what she wanted.
Better to not exist at all.
The mannequin's head banged on the cold floor and then all was silent.
I'll probably do corrections at some point, its late.
But then she sees a head just like hers staring back at her from another box. She drops to her knees and picks up the head, looking it over as she pondered the meaning of her existence.
There she knelt, assembled from bits and pieces forged from wood that existed long before she did, fitted together from the plans of a designer. A process that she had no role in and was for all intents and purposes, alien to her.
Now, much like a piece of driftwood, she finds herself cast into an apathetic world; into an environment that alternates between parental and hostile but remains as her conception was, out of her control.
Her lips silently contort as her introspection leads her into a split corridor. Conflicting views of the inside and the outside force her to tremble. The inside casts her as the lead character in this story. The fair heroine at the centre of this universal play. Meanwhile, the outside lowers the curtains down on her, casting her in shade and placing pressure on her role. How, after all, can she be of such significance, when she is the product of forces and processes that were around before she even existed; a mere twig caught in the flow.
Booted from her own central role, she pondered what possible meaning the life of a dejected mannequin could have, her arms tightening around her sisters head as she found...nothing. She could dedicate herself to a job, making her life a hub of activity as she filled her existence with little goals and minor purposes. Though she realised that ultimately, these goals and purposes aimed merely to repeat themselves. A meaningless role.
Perhaps then, she could dedicate herself to a single life goal, a task that would grant a grand purpose to her little life. Her mind swam with possibilities but stopped short all too quickly. What happens when she completes this purpose? Any meaning it infused to her life would be lost forever and what would be more tragic than that?
By taking this path, she deduced that her life would only have meaning if she either failed to complete whatever it is that would give it meaning, or when she was still working towards it. Thus, she further deduced, her life was by necessity, meaningless. She would always by striving for what she could not have.
She kissed her sisters head and lay it down to rest in the box, shakily climbing back to her feet and hobbling away. She moved as a fractured, broken creature. Unable to make sense of herself. Unable to reconcile the significance she found on the inside, with the tyrannical gaze of eternity that seemed to suck her dry of meaning and purpose. Was this all she could expect?
An empty life, devoid of direction? She found herself on the train-ride of life and she didn't like where it was going. This wasn't what she wanted.
Better to not exist at all.
The mannequin's head banged on the cold floor and then all was silent.
I'll probably do corrections at some point, its late.