Untitled Story

[Kabaret]

Robert Landing was happy. He had finally become what he had wanted to be since childhood. All along the road, people had been telling him that it was a frivolous and ultimately futile goal. That it was a long, hard road. He didn't care. He would walk on broken glass to do what he wanted to do with his life.

You won't make a lot of money, they had said. He didn't care. What mattered was that he was doing what he loved. He didn't care whether or not he was successful. Hell, I could live on the streets as long as I can keep doing what I love, he had said. And he had meant every word. He felt the same way now, standing out on the sidewalk, clutching his instrument and entertaining passersby.

He saw their eyes - the pity, the disgust. He ignored their gazes. He was doing what he wanted - what was wrong with that? Did that make him less of a person? He could be making a six-figure salary and he still wouldn't be as happy as he was now. And he was happy. So happy. Never mind that he hadn't had a meaningful relationship with anyone in over ten years. Never mind that he lived on handouts from people he didn't know. He was doing what he loved, and that was all that mattered to him. He couldn't be happier.

Day in, day out, he stood out on the street, singing his joy to the world. He thought people would be happy to hear his gaiety - happy to know that money wasn't all that mattered in this world. But he was wrong. They looked at him like he was the miserable one. Like they had lives more fulfilling than his. He hated that look - that self-righteous look of overbearing pity. He would rather they threw rocks at him. He had done everything right, done what he wanted - why did everyone else think he was wrong? Why?

One night, he couldn't sleep. Usually he could ignore the roaring of cars overhead, but tonight it rang in his head, refusing to get out. Eventually, he couldn't take it any more. He got up. He saw the dawn-touched horizon and he was happy. Was there anything more beautiful in the world? He decided he would go out onto the bridge to see the sunrise.

Leaning on the railings, he saw the sun slowly climb over the horizon, coloring the sky red. Something about the scene touched him, and he began to sing. Not his usual, lilting songs, but a somber, almost mournful tune. He was surprised at the sullen music he was making - why did he do that? There was no reason to be sad, none at all. And yet he continued, slowly increasing in volume until his throat hurt. Why? he thought. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

Why?

He looked down at the turgid waters, far below.

...

No one would miss him.

[Eliphas]

So, this guy wanted to do what he always wanted to do, and people didn't like him because he was doing that?

Very well written. The end made me sad, despite this being so short. A rare occurence.

[Kabaret]

It wasn't as if he had jumped - it was more like... he didn't care. I don't know.

One moment, he was gazing into the sunrise, and the next...

Like a dead leaf, just fluttering down...

I didn't even hear the splash, it was so far away. To me it was like he was weightless, like a feather touching down, gracing the surface...

Ripples, radiating outwards, touching...

I wanted to stop him. I wanted to tell him that he wasn't alone, that he wasn't meaningless, or useless, that he meant something to somebody, that somebody loved him...

My mouth opened, but no words came out. I was just... too surprised, I suppose.

Before... it happened, though, I could have sworn I saw his lips moving.

Like he was talking to someone. Or... singing.

And for a moment he seemed... happy. But that's impossible. Happy people don't die.

Well, that's not strictly true. Happy people don't off themselves. They don't have any reason to. Then again...

Is there ever a reason?

What was going through his mind when he made the decision? Was he even in his right mind?

What are people thinking when they do this to themselves? Life's too short as it is, and yet they insist on leaving before they're due. They should be grateful for the life they've been gifted - countless people die every day who would give anything for another week, another day, another hour, another minute...

I've never been religious. I'm not against this kind of thing for religious reasons. I just... can't understand.

Why would they throw so much away?

...

I need a drink.

[Kabaret]

(Not related to current saga)

I stand next to a woman that I've seen all too many times. She's familiar - too familiar. I'm in a suit I've worn countless times before. The priest says the words he's already said millions of times before. The scene's nothing I haven't seen before - literally. All my life has been this moment. Over and over again.

Why the repetition? This was the happiest moment of my life. Now it's nothing but a stale memory, real yet fake, a boring reminder of what was once beautiful. The first time, I had felt so wonderful. This was the best moment of my life at that very moment. Now I notice all of the imperfections.

The same words come out of my mouth that I've said so many times before, and I turn to the woman in exactly the same manner that I have every time I relived this moment, even though I would give anything to be able to break free, to run, anywhere. Anywhere away from this vicious familiarity, this maddening sameness.

She smiles, and that smile, what I once thought was her most wonderful feature, now seems inane and empty. The dress, once beautiful, now only serves to blind me as its aggressive whiteness reflects the annoyingly hot sun into my eyes. I smile too, reflecting, as a mirror would, her idiotic grin. She puckers up, and at that moment, I hate her. I hate her. The woman whom I once would have given anything to be with - is now the object of my most vehement hatred.

I feel a burning hot anger inside me as I lean forward, slowly closing my eyes. I can feel my lips copying hers, and I scream inside my mind.

let me out

My eyelids finally close down, and I meet darkness, that all-too familiar darkness. In the darkness, I feel free. The darkness is a blank canvas upon which I can paint whatever I want. Anything besides the redundant nonsense happening around me, outside.

My eyes are opened in the darkness.

Our lips meet but I feel nothing. The crowd cheers but I hear nothing. My eyes are open and yet I cannot see.

Finally. Something new. This experience refreshes me, emboldening me to do something I have never done any other time. My mind breaks free of its cyclical prison, and my arms, that before were locked in that memory of happiness, are free. My hands, with the desperation of a dying man denied a meal, swiftly come up and grasp the stupid woman's neck. Her eyes open wide in surprise. She says something, a whispered wheeze. I hear nothing. I lean forward, put my mouth next to her ear.

'Do you know how long I have been waiting to do this?'

I continue to deprive the woman of her oxygen, as I have been deprived of variety. While I slowly kill her I laugh, a silent, hysterical giggle. Never have I felt as good as I do now. So free. So refreshingly new.

Her eyes begin to close as she loses consciousness. I am aware now of several people trying to pull me off of her, but they are no match against the pent up hatred that fills me at this moment.

I feel the woman of my dreams and nightmares die in my hands, and I am glad. Nothing can deprive me of my happiness now. I am free from my prison. But suddenly, I see something. Something else. It is new, as I cannot remember it. A man. A gun.

A booming shot rings out, something else new to me. A new sensation graces my body as the bullet penetrates my skin, lodging itself in my heart. I feel nothing, to my dismay. I have not felt pain in so long... too long. Instead the scene in front of me simply becomes saturated... the whites become brighter, the darkness all-consuming.

Nothing.

-------

Author's note: This may be hard to understand. If you'd prefer to puzzle it out yourself, ignore the spoiler below. A hint: it's meant to be surrealist, there's no real history behind the characters that you need to know.




....






<sub>Basically, for whatever reason, the guy has literally relived this one moment of his life millions of times. It was his happiest memory, but after reliving it for so long it has become like hell to him. Every time he wishes he could break free, to do something different to fight the madness, but he never succeeds, again rewinding and reliving the memory again. This time, he does succeed, but is apparently stopped from enjoying his final freedom by the gunman.

further spoilers:



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My interpretation of it is that the gunman was there the first time, and the moment when the memory rewinds is the moment of his death. All of this is in his head, and I'm kind of taking the idea of your life flashing before your eyes to its logical extremes. I guess the moral of the story is: too much of a good thing...</sub>