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I was having this sort of existential crisis at half past midnight, and I was ranting off to a friend who just wanted to watch Glee. Poor guy. So anyway, I decided to write a short story about it; however, after the first few lines, this all just came out of my mind. I didn't even realize I wrote it this way. So, here it is.

Please do share with me your interpretation of this; I have gotten some similar and vastly different opinions which I find rather fascinating.


Submitted:Feb 10, 2013    Reads: 12    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


Wrigley

Wake up, Wrigley, Wake Up.

It's time to wake up from the dream.

But is it a dream, or is it a reality?

It's upto you; what it may seem.

My eyes are open,

I see it no more,

It's crazy what I saw,

But it's just like before.

You need to leave now, Wrigley.

It's time for you to go.

Wait - I'll help you just this once,

But after this once, no more.

I felt a quiver in my heart,

As I nodded what was my head.

I quietly thanked his service,

Because I believed what he said.

You need to think about it Wrigley.

Why, do you feel this pain?

Is it just bored contemplation?

Or perhaps, a certain disdain?

It's not pain, I responded loudly.

It felt like I had been poked.

My beliefs were shifting, my tongue was twisting,

Yet I felt strangely stoked.

You seem strangely peaceful, Wrigley.

Why must that be so?

I thought you said, you need my help,

So answer my question from before.

I feel that there is no point.

In moving from the start to the end.

Because each time, it ends the same way,

Whether I tried an about-turn or took a hairpin bend.

That's strange, Wrigley.

Why do you feel this way?

Everything has a point after all.

Just like you being here this day.

There is no point to this day, I objected

It starts and ends the same way.

I wake up, I sleep, regardless of journey in between,

It runs the same course whether it's September or May.

But isn't it about the journey, Wrigley?

Isn't it about that path in the middle?

No matter whatever destination we reach,

No matter what be our solution to the riddle?

I believe that's the point.

The 'destination', isn't that just a label,

For a point at the end of that map,

that we lay, or perhaps gets laid, on the table?

Examine your life, Wrigley.

What has it meant?

You've gone through so many journeys,

Free of rent.

That rent isn't truly free, I thought.

Time is the paying currency.

I spend it each day on trivialities,

Knowing that eventually, it won't matter to me.

Wrigley, stop and listen to reason.

You're just thinking differently.

The whole point of this conversation,

Is so that you don't think enigmatically.

Where is reason, I ask,

In beginning, only to end?

Whether it's about the journey or the destination,

That final stop ain't a Godsend.

Let's stop here, Wrigley.

It's time to go to bed.

I can only listen and help so much,

Before I begin feeling dread.

You feel dread because it might be true,

That no matter what I say or what I do,

I take the final step always wearing the same shoe.

Goodnight Wrigley, It was nice to be helped by you.





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