The Death of the Dregs
def: a small amount of residue
The Empty Nest
Posted by b on 4:42 PM
I looked out the porthole window. The stars stretched forth for miles. I saw bright clusters of blue and green. Reds and whites. Beautiful glowing spectres scattered across the darkness of the expanse. I take a seat, leaning back far in the deep chair.
The leather settles and creaks underneath me. The fakeness of the fabric's reality is revealed by the unnatural smell of it's hide. Interestingly, the entire scene was fake.
Pull back the wall, the porthole window, anything in the room, and you would find that it was fake. Like the stickers on a child's toy, emulating reality. A two dimensional representation of reality.
It really doesn't matter. I'm real in what reality I choose to exist. This becomes harder to do as an adult, but as a child it was much easier. I remember days and days of make believe. I remember lining up toys and seeing them become real before my eyes, marching against each other, their guns blazing, the bullets peircing their plastic bodies, their fake vocal cords screaming in pain. I remember the utter destuction some of my toys reigned down upon some helpless victims. Those days, not long passed, served as a basis on which my talent would be built. Living in false realities. It's not as difficult as it seems.
Adoption is important. Accepting that all reality is false is also a necessary realization. After this the possibilities are endless and you can truly become alive.
The leather settles and creaks underneath me. The fakeness of the fabric's reality is revealed by the unnatural smell of it's hide. Interestingly, the entire scene was fake.
Pull back the wall, the porthole window, anything in the room, and you would find that it was fake. Like the stickers on a child's toy, emulating reality. A two dimensional representation of reality.
It really doesn't matter. I'm real in what reality I choose to exist. This becomes harder to do as an adult, but as a child it was much easier. I remember days and days of make believe. I remember lining up toys and seeing them become real before my eyes, marching against each other, their guns blazing, the bullets peircing their plastic bodies, their fake vocal cords screaming in pain. I remember the utter destuction some of my toys reigned down upon some helpless victims. Those days, not long passed, served as a basis on which my talent would be built. Living in false realities. It's not as difficult as it seems.
Adoption is important. Accepting that all reality is false is also a necessary realization. After this the possibilities are endless and you can truly become alive.