Everyman: A Work of Fiction

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A strange long-poem about love, loss, and suicide

Submitted: February 01, 2010

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Submitted: February 01, 2010

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-1Null:

I am not important. I am no one. I simply explain. I will narrate the chapters in this story. This story.

This is no ordinary story This is not a tale of a glorious hero. This is not a work of exaggerated fiction. Though, this is a fictional account.

We will be taking this journey through the life of one man. One nameless man. One faceless man. Only one man.

He is no one. He is everyone. He is the everyman.

He is not happy.

He was happy. A long time ago. Now he wastes away, in the slums of life. Dying every day. Living every day.

This is no orthodox tale. The rules here are different. There are no speaking characters, save our everyman. There are no places, only settings. Settings in the basest of terms. No cities, no addresses, no countries, no world. Only unnamed buildings, streets, and houses. There is no specific time, but time relative to our character's life. He is born in the year 0. He dies in the year 37. If you want you can attach “19” or “20” onto the year. Make it familiar. Doesn't matter.

This is not a story with conflict and resolution. There is only conflict. We will ignore religion, politics, and ethics. This is a story about suicide, lust, and hate. It will contain strong language, violence, sexual content, and frightening images. It is rated R. If this will offend, go read your fucking fairytales.

Now that the ground rules have been set. I'll give the background for the beginning. But first, here’s the end.

1. The End

Walking. No. Running. Cannot go fast enough. Tripping, falling, hurting.

My legs burn, so many flights of stairs to escape this mortal frame, this cursed life, this endless shit. One final leap for eternal solace.

I'm near giddy with excitement. Near laughing I'm so happy. Irony. My life is full of it.

Finally make it onto the roof of my high-rise business. Buying. Selling. Fuck it.

I shut my eyes, I shut them until all I see is red. Blood red. I run. And run. And then.

Interlude:

This is where we will stop with the end. This is where we return to the beginning. This is where I will provide backstory.

Of course, this is not about a specific person. Thus, this will be a vague section. Filled with references to “his school” and “the girl”. No names. Only generalities.

Backstory 1:

He was born. He was happy. He enjoyed life. Everything was going his way. He was in high school. The first time his happiness left it's plateau at perfection.

Interlude: This is the first moment. This is a story of moments. This is about his first experience with sorrow. With unhappiness. With loss.

2. The Girl

Walking. Pacing. Thinking. Smiling. Laughing. Talking.

I barely stop to think about anything but myself and the moment I'm in. Life is good. Life is great.

I am alone. I don't care. I am in perpetual perfection. I am the golden boy of the world.

I walk from my class. I am only a teenager. Naïve. Sexless. Just barely pubescent. Girls are icky. Girls are nothing.

I see her

She is the new girl, hence I have never seen her before. She is beautiful. Lovely. Enchanting. I stop walking. People bump into me. She passes. The moment follows suit. I stand.

I stand. Eventually I catch myself. Go to other classes. But my mind stays on her. I have never been this enthralled. I am in love. I don't know what love is.

I want her. I need her. I think of ways to attain her. She is an object to me. An object I need. Crave. Lust for.

I try to talk to her in passing. She does not notice. She ends me. I'm cold. Barren. Lifeless. I need her so. So very unattainable. By the power in my passion.

I will get her.

Every time I see her. She peers into my eyes. Losing herself. We catch each other's eyes in a deep gaze. We kiss. Kissing becomes more.

I wake up.

Eventually I overcome my nervousness and talk to her. She remembers my name.

I talk more. She notices. I take her to the mall. We spend time together. I take her for a drive. The next morning I take her home.

I ask her out.

She says “yes”. Ecstatic. Euphoric. Elated. Nothing can stop me. I can't sleep. My smile is stuck.

We go out. I love her. We go out. Pinch me. This is not a dream.

Weeks pass. Months. Seven months, two weeks, one day, three hours, six minutes, four seconds. Gone. In one brutal phrase. Cruel. Heartless. Relentless.

How could she? Why would she? Who is she? Who am I?

Broken. Shattered. Cold. Lonely. Shaking. Miserable. New unfamiliar emotions. New changing ideas.

Anger. Hatred. Fury. My heart is full of these. But then it gets weak. Failing. Breaking. Cold. Withered. Gone.

Help.

Interlude:

That was moment two. The first instance of misery. Time progresses in our character's life. He is a young man, fresh from college. He has had more heartbreak.

His anger has begun to take root. It's burning blossoms are blooming. It's making him into something else. Something that’s only starting to form. He is to the point where he wishes there wasn't a societal norm. A norm that declares “you must get married.” “You must reproduce”. YOU MUST

Now another moment. A dream. A dream that is his first time becoming fed up, rising up, and giving up. A nightmare.

3. The Land

Open my eyes. Breasts all around me. I rub my eyes. I am in shock. I am dreaming? I must be asleep.

They come closer. Drowning me. Suffocation. I die.

Without a trace.

I am a slave to women. I am required by law to fuck. To reproduce. I am a slave.

I wish to escape this land. The land of women. One nation undersexed. Underloved. Under loss.

Oversexed. Overloved. Over my lifeless corpse.

I hate this idea. This necessity to be dominated. Controlled. Whipped. By someone who you want for love. Passion. Meaning.

I say, overthrow this oppression. But to no avail.

I say, fuck 'em. I remember a time when women were objects. Sweet, sweet, objects. Docile, oppressed.

Now the entire system of dating is a clusterfuck. Maddening, inciting, depressing.

I can't ever fulfill my life and get laid. Fucked. Boned. Screwed. Words that mean both 'to have sex'. And to be utterly disastrous.

I'm done with it. Over being ridden. But then. Is this also overriding being?

Can I not be a man, without having a woman? Am I required to be coupled?

Fuck. Is it wrong that I don't even care any more?

Interlude:

Now we're going back. Again. To right before the previous moment. There is no reason to have skipped it before. But alas, we did. This moment is another dream. A different kind of dream. A insomniac dream. Not quite asleep. Not quite awake. Scared. Lost.

4. The Dream

Where the fuck am I? This must be fake. This isn't real. Darkness everywhere. Nothing concrete.

Nothing to reach for, to hold, to grasp.

Falling. Landing. Dying.

And yet, it feels right. It feels good.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Then I remember.

She killed me. She ruined me. She pained me. She KILLED me.

Sudden shift.

I'm in a room. A plain room. Nothing interesting, nothing special. Nothing to see here. Move along.

I realize. I discover. I look hard. I stare at it.

I'm in my own hell. I look panicked. I see a window. I bash myself against it. No luck. Same with a door.

No. Fucking. Luck.

I beat every bit of that room. My hands are pulp.

I scream as loud as it possible. My voice is gone.

I sit. And sit. ... I accept. Nullified How is it that this is coming true. Now that each of us had found joy in the us that will now never be. Never ever ever Repeat as Needed. I need life and death and to go and wake. Wake from this evil sleeping. I am falling Apart. I am failing heart. I run out of soul. I am full of shit. Interlude:

This is where our everyman enters depression. The part where he gives up on life.

He loses hope. He gains struggle. He loses faith. He gains suffering. He gains her. He loses dignity.

Alas. This ‘her’ is not the one he wants. She is who society forces upon him. Upon his soul. Upon his provision. Upon his paycheck. He now must work even harder. Here is his depression beginning.

5. The Routine

Q QWERTY UIOP A ASDFGH JKL Z ZXCVBN M

Familiar sights. All too familiar. Can’t stand them. Not anymore.

Q Why can’t I get out of here? QWERTY Why did I chain myself to her? UIOP What was I thinking taking this deadend job?

A Because of everyone else. ASDFGH Because of everyone else. JKL I thought. Of everyone. But me

Z Damn! ZXCVBN DAMMIT! M Why am I so stupid!

I arise. Look around my monochromatic cubicle array. My daily life.

No one is happy. Why should I be?

No one is complaining. Why not?

FUCK this! Fuck it all! I’m done with it I’m leaving. I. quit.

I can’t quit. Alas, my wife wouldn’t allow it. And I am not my own man. Thus I listen. Obey. Conform.

I hate her. I hate her. IHATEHER. HTHR done.

Interlude: His mind is on the brink. And after this moment, he is blank. He has no mind, no memory, no thoughts. Save small obvious ones. He speaks only in clichéd lines.

Backstory 2: Good morning. I’m off to work. I’ll have them on your desk. How was your day? Goodnight. I love you

He speaks only in clichéd lies.

Interlude: This part is not important to see through his eyes. So we will leave it as the above description.

Now. Let us travel to the moment Where it all falls apart. Where it all comes together.

The straw that broke the camels back. The last straw. The discovery and decision to take this. This shortcut.

To freedom. From oppression. To fresh air, to heaven. Sweet Jesus.

6. The Refusal I wake up. Something’s different.

I greet my wife. Something, is different.

She tries to make small talk. And I realize what it is.

I don’t care anymore. I just fucking don’t.

I cut her off. I piss her off.

I don’t care at all. I smile, leave, and slam the door.

I push her away. This is all her fault.

As I approach work. My body is on cruise control I have no say, no sight, so senses at all.

It’s nice.

I arrive at my deadend. I climb up the stairs. My wife calls my phone. How sweet of her.

Inquiry: What’s wrong?

Answer: You.

It’s too late for me. Much too late. She yells over the phone. But it’s already out of my hand. Down the stairs, breaking up, breaking.

I’m going to throw everything out the door. Off the roof. Out of life, focus, time.

I walk, and walk, and walk. Reach the door to the final flight. Fight everything that says NO. Succumb to a thriving, beautiful YES.

I open it.

Interlude: Now, this brings us back to the end.

But there is still one further moment. His further falling after he hit’s the ground. His decent into an unwelcome hell. This is the final moment in our Everyman’s story. I thank you whole-heartedly. For you cooperation. Exit the theatre, slowly, carefully. Alive.

7. The Fall

FUCK FUCK FUCK

THIS CAN’T BE RIGHT. This is all wrong.

Where is my freedom? Where is my sanity? Where is my beautiful vacation?

Goddammit. GODDAMMIT!

I followed the light. In the tunnel.

But the source, was eternal fire.

I lose. With life, With death.

WHAT HAVE I DONE.

Anger, fury, hatred.

Forever, and ever. Amen. Straight shot, right past life, straight to hell.

Toil, suffering, deceit. Pain, loss. Nothing.

FREEDOM


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