The Fantastical Reality of Cliche

Reads: 113  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
I think this is my subconcious

Submitted: March 29, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 29, 2011

A A A

A A A


When the world dissolved and the seas rose, and the rivers flooded, and the hills melted, and the rolling valleys stocked with years of death, years of decomposition, folded themselves up and moved away, she stood silent yet overcome with happiness. To her, the sorrows of the universe now matched the sorrow she found in her own scorned impenetrable being, where the sting of freedom pushed on her luminescent skin, like a needle ready to draw blood, a hated yet equally thrilling expenditure of pain- a transgression of the red liquid that drew itself up and down in the tubes she called veins to a new glass capsule of revelation. Where the concoction of cells, platelets and tiny floating microbes no longer became a powerful part of a macro system but were instead diminished to a squirming circular community of atoms, jailed by a glass test tube. A symbol of desired explanations. Something which has ironically and continues to, just as ironically, take the life flexing in eager brains and turn that life into flat and unbreathing carcasses mutilated by the desire to defeat the limitations of time. The desire of mortals, to rise higher then their position as humanity.
 
As with all scientists she pinpointed the date of her internal sorrow with that same very moment that it had all clicked, the moment she had found the answer to something so inconsequential in relation to humanities realities that is seemed to take charge of her entire being. It began with a few tests, the variants of life were measured according to their apparent definition, and her assertions were proved correct by the confident questions she asked. The same questions that took charge and organised a frantically lost and existential planet into some form of routine. The same questions that provided great comfort at their ability to be asked. The same questions that struggled through belief systems, that swam through the tides of historical torment and washed onto the shores of those too underprivileged to entertain such concepts. But it was there, on the poor shores of India, Africa and Asia, that the questions came to die. Those shores became the dumping ground, the pages of hopeful questions suffocating the fish that needed to be caught, the ink poisoning the water systems, inching into the water supplies and bonding itself with the element that helped sustain a deprived section of humanity- water became poisoned by philosophy. But she was yet to find this all out, her story, a short one, but never-the-less a relatively important one began in the country that housed, cherished and nurtured these questions, that put them on product lines and sold them in exchange for raw livelihood. She had promise and success and eventually would have worldwide envy, achieving happiness through the relevancy of her discovery- something new for humanity. The reality that something she created had not answered but instead chastised the desires of eternal questions was soon twisted to reveal the power of humanity. Her discovery of destruction became a vital obsession with living- and was mistakenly interpreted as an explanation rather then an end. And with all that living and breathing and time she became her own discovery, finding answers to her condition in the crevasses of her research. Research that defined her, that owned and fulfilled her.
 
So when the world dissolved, and the sea rose and all previous identifiers of life were destroyed, her happiness grew, alongside her sorrow. With destruction she was able to reveal herself, her discovery and set herself free in a world of beautiful nothingness. For she had become existence. The flow of the worlds water supply whistled through her veins, and air circulated her lungs, wind blowing through her nostrils. And the world became what it was, raw, open, un-interpretable yet utterly fulfilling.


© Copyright 2018 frog1234. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More Science Fiction Short Stories

Booksie 2018 Poetry Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by frog1234

The Fantastical Reality of Cliche

Short Story / Science Fiction

Popular Tags