He sat on the edge of the sidewalk. He sat on the edge of the sidewalk on an ordinary city street. A street that is the center of life and activity to every child growing up in the numerous smaller cities suffocating in the shadow of this one.
He finally gave in, to the war inside. Fell back- arms spread upward and eyes closed- into the pitch black lion’s den below him. He tore himself to shreds, to pieces, to nothing.
He is a man in a sharp, but unassuming suit, and his shoes are marvelously shining. When he breaks the silence- his quiet humility convinces you to listen. Only now, he weeps. The inevitability of this moment is overwhelming. He tried so hard to live a lie. When the lie failed to materialize and he ran out of energy to continue living it, he felt as though he had been reduced to nothing. A failure. The piece of shit he’d always thought he’d turn out to be.
He had never been destined for riches or for success. He never had the ability to achieve what great people achieve. He was meant to be mediocre; but, much to the cause of his current unhappiness, he had been reared on a dream, an implicit expectation, of limitless possibility.
Now, like so many before him, he sees what deep down he always knew to be true. There is no promise in life and odds are we all turn out failures. Failures of what? Who is keeping score? That can’t be the truth.
There is no promise in life and odds are we all turn out as nothing. Odds are? What are the odds playing against?
There is no promise in life and we are all nothing.
There is no promise in life.
We are all nothing.
Life holds no promise.
We are all nothing.
He stumbled upon a truth that resonated. As he sat there on the sidewalk with shoulders slumped and palms a’ sweating, he congratulated himself for his stoic repose. This thought of everyone being nothing relaxed his self-loathing a bit. He felt better embracing the thought that he and all others were and are nothing.
Paused, for but a moment, everything made sense. The farcical, phantasmagoric circus of life he’d always been living in was captured clearly and tellingly by the shutter. He remarked to himself- I saw it. He shuddered knowing he had to go on living it. Glimpsing the maze from above doesn’t mean he knows how to get out of it.
He thought of his friends and of his family, of his house and his job. His bank account, his portfolio, his amiable rapport with upper management.
He knew himself not to be alone with these thoughts. These are thoughts spawn of animals playing civilization. Of course it was all nothing. Of course he was the piece of shit he’d always thought he’d turn out to be. Only a fool would fancy otherwise.
With this, he inhaled deeply. Slowly stood. Exhale. He is ok. The tie can come back to the neck. It is only Wednesday anyway. Before he turns to go inside, he takes in one last deep breath. Holds.
The beauty, he supposes, is that there is a circus at all.
Exhale.
