I tried my hand at a little prose whilst commuting today. It probably had something to do with wanting to write something else apart from my usual reflexive style, and also calming myself down. That maybe if I couldn’t write a novel just yet, I could perhaps start with a sort of short story or passage.
It was mildly cathartic, both to express myself and to also attempt a different style. Here it is, if you’re interested. It was first published on my posterous account, but they messed up my paragraphing. I hate it when that happens.
He didn’t like to go outside, and when he had to, he didn’t like talking to people.
“Too many people scampering around saying or doing cursory things. No one’s really honest with themselves anymore. If they were, maybe they’d slow down ever so often.” He would think to himself.
It wasn’t exactly a distrust or escape into solitude more so than it was the immense alienation he’d feel every time he stepped onto the concrete pavement. Masses upon masses of faceless individuals blurred into a cloud of organisms that had no business being alive other than it was just the way it was.
Did they truly not stare in bewildered amazement at the cosmological mysteries beyond the known universe? Were they merely slaves to the physical laws in this plane of existence? Were they not yearning to know more than what already is? It wasn’t that he found their existence pitiful, rather, the intensity of his questions drove him to further retreat into the recesses of his mind, where at least he knew he was safe. Apart from the dismissive reactions that were coupled by candour and pleasantries.
So he walks among them. Amongst us, amongst you. Plain in appearance, nothing special nor captivating, faceless in the void of knowing, formless in the singularity of being.