Almost Human

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic


Thoughts of a twelve-year-old millennial. Some years have passed, though. Now I'm a twenty-nine-year-old man. I think I may have changed my line of reasoning and perspective of life

Submitted: March 19, 2018

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Submitted: March 19, 2018

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When the Twin Towers were attacked, I remember myself watching the news over and over again. I had just come back from school and turned on the TV. I had not talked to anybody on my way back home, even though I had met people and seen the horror in their faces; I don't know why, but I didn't care about them, so I just simply continue walking without asking what their problem was. It was much better to put my headphones on and go on living in my bubble. 

 

No, nonsenses, I know exactly the reason why I didn't. I'm a fucking stone cold piece of shit.

 

I clearly remember that the sky had been dyed a particularly scintillating red shade that got me fascinated as if it were a hypnotic painting; I didn't even ponder about it, I simply thought that it was an effect caused by something. See? This is why I'm telling you that I am what I am, because the sky had been dyed a bloody red shade and I did not even ponder why.

 

The world was at war. But there was I. Watching people jumping off the buildings had me glued to the spot because, from my viewpoint, that scene was a glimpse of the end of civilization. When the news of the tragedy spread around the world, I thought that it was going to be another uninteresting movie; people being attacked and reacting unconsciously seemed to be a plot that many directors had already profited from, and the outcome of chaos was rather predictable if not pitiful. Far from making me sad, I had the urge to laugh; an entire building was on fire and the other tower had already been smashed down to pieces. Those who didn't die in the blast made the choice of jumping out the windows into the air; their bodies shattered against the ground as if they were rotten tomatoes. And now they were going to be rotten for good; rotten and eaten by worms. The end.

 

I didn't think for a second that it was real. The images seemed so unreal that they simply didn't belong in this world; they didn't match the reality we lived every day. Maybe not mine, at least. Definitely not.

At the beginning, I didn't think it was actually happening. The tragic scene was repeated over and over again as if it were part of a movie that was about to be premiered. People were dying and I was making fun of it; children were crying while I was eating a slice of cake and sexting; the disaster was rampant and I did not realize how dreadful it was. I simply turned off the TV because I wanted to avoid stress. I put my headphones on and forgot about the rest of the world. I did not want to get involved in the pain of the rest.

 

This indifference to suffering and numbness to the world is a hallmark of the new generation; we are growing cold, and the worst part is that we are fully aware of it but we pretend we aren't; we can't be fixed, and maybe we don't want to be fixed. Why would we? What for? Fully aware of what we are and blissfully unaware of what we are meant to become; pitiful and shameful. Emotions aren't that hard to borrow, so if anybody asked for my opinion next day, all I had to do was pretend I was terribly hurt. As phony as it sounds. It was not my problem and I couldn't solve it so I didn't have to suffer; at the end of it all, there was nothing for me to endure.

 

But when I saw tears streaming down that little kid's face, I must confess, I felt my heart breaking a bit apart.

On that occasion, I could have been human.

I'm not sure.

I never experienced the same shit again.


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