The Realist

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A man by the name of Edgar Gates goes over his thoughts and views on what the world is and how it should be.

Submitted: March 19, 2016

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Submitted: March 19, 2016

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A philosopher once said, "it is always the path of pain by which one arrives at pleasure" This statement can be derived many a way, but can only be truly and fully understood by the higher spiritual and philosophical of minds. Edgar Gates was one of such mind. He spent sun and moon in his room, thinking, planning, solving, evaluating, anything that put the mind to work, he done it. While brain power was very a good company, Edgar felt he was alone in his own world of brilliance and intelligence, forever cursed to live about the earth as a wise but single member of the society he ever so cynically panned. He wanted a woman but thought they were nothing but harlots and swindled for the treasure of a man's love and wealth, dastardly villains in the fairytale of lust and vice. For men themselves, he found them to be utterly ignorant and oblivious to the obvious perils that ravaged the Earth and it's inhabitants, killing them mercilessly and endlessly, feeding off the screams of innocents and unfortunates. How? How could the Almighty let this happen to his greatest creation? Edgar cursed at God himself for the lack of empathy he has shown as clear as the ocean, for the laziness of his recent work upon the world and all it's people. Man were born as innocents, pure and fragile to the hardened and cruel world that would befall upon them by adulthood.

These were Edgar's thoughts. He hated the world for what it was, he hated the people for what they were. He wished he could find someone as himself, someone who saw things for what they were, who chose not to close their eyes and dream up a fantasy because they were too frightened of the unforgiving world they were damned to stay for the rest of eternity. A long, painful eternity that lasted only when the sun woke and slept and when the moon rose and fell. He wanted to kill! He wanted to obliterate everything in his path, to let out his frustration, to take it out upon those deserving of a good beating! He was furious! He swung and shouted, screamed his loudest as so the gods could hear his cry! He cursed and cursed until his tongue had become the complexion of the freshest budded rose in the dawn of spring! A dominator at his finest, he was destined and determined to prove his anger for the whole to see! Books and papers and utensils and tools, it was all junk at its worse but no match for this fool. He stabbed and he jabbed, he kicked and he stomped! Oh, by God this man was all but nonstop! The touhgest of the tough, the survivors of the fittest, none of them would hold this man, for his rage had broken the cage, melted the metal, the burning mess squealed like a kettle, HE HAD HAD IT! He grabbed the nearby knife, held it itght, aligned it right, and took his life.

Edgar Gates was a man of such mind.

Edgar Gates was alone in the world.

Edgar Gates was an intellectual.

Edgar Gates saw what he wanted to see, he heard what he wanted to hear.

Edgar Gates wrote what needed to be written, he said what need to be said.

Edgar Gates was a realist.


© Copyright 2017 M. L. Tereno. All rights reserved.