Little CIty

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic


These days we fuck and we eat like kings. I think to myself we are the only aliens in the universe with our ships, and our cars, our gadgets, our chemicals. The 21st century is to live like kings, full of poison, anger, tiredness, and intelligence. We must be some miracle as the only creatures to question our own existence in such a way, to suffer the way that we do. And what fucked up world the universe has made for us to think upon as we poke and dissect it. I'm, not the only human to wonder the nature of our bones, tissue, joints, and electrons; do you think a cat does the same? A fish? A bee? We wonder why there is no mercy, its because once there was no need for mercy, no need for blindness. Animals live on the land like cannibals, eating from each other like savages, whilst I am too afraid to eat from them. We are the first vegetarians to live from our morals, the first creatures to be able to.

From here, staying awake from caffeine on my little desk, I see the clouds stretching from the window. I can see the forest as I sit above it, I see it as looking through a fisheye lens, the way the forest circles everything. At the centre is the city, the tall buildings reaching high and the scattered buildings beneath, so many people, so many just like me. They wonder what our place in this is. Is this why we build? To distract ourselves? On the other side of me are shelves of thousands of books, thousands of people who were once in a place like this, bent over a table, writing, learning from a lit screen in quietness for hours. If God really does exist he is terrible as much as he is utterly magnificent.


Submitted: June 21, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Flambe. All rights reserved.

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