Click, click-click....
The sound of rhythmic mouse-clicking echoed across the room as a pair of bloodshot eyes remained glued to a shining screen and it's contents. The barking of wild, stray dogs rung into the night as the furious drumming of the keyboard finally came to a halt and the figure leant back into his chair with a heavy sigh.
Cilen was you typical, run-of-the-mill kinda guy. He went to your average government-funded high-school, played sports on the weekend, hung out with friends, and read a shit ton of fantasy novels in his free time. Y'know, the typical high school experience.
But things got a little cloudy from there. He didn't know what to do after high school.
Well, he had a vague idea. Somewhere along the lines of attending college, getting a degree, working a nine to five job, marry, retire, and die without too much hassle.
Well, all of that was pretty much set in stone, until his parents passed away when he was seventeen, forcing Cilen to learn to grow up. Fast.
He figured it wouldn't be that bad. He had a house, he had an inheritance, he had friends that kept him company. And at first, it really wasn't anything. He still carried on with high school, still hung out with his friends and besides a few missed meals, he was in tip-top condition.
But after weeks and months of just blatantly ignoring and just tuning out everything that involved the death of his parents, the loneliness finally started to sink in.
It was always there, patiently waiting, waiting for the realization to finally settle. Then, the awareness just hits, and it hits you when you're in your most vulnerable.
It was one of your typical Sunday mornings, bright, warm sun, chirpy birds, the smell of freshly baked goods, lingering in the air. Cilen was taking a stroll in the local shopping mall, aimlessly walking around when he caught a whiff of a familiar fragrance from a shop or just an average passerby.
At first, he carried on, as if nothing had happened until the awareness dawned and he realized he knew this smell. And suddenly that innocent passing fragrance had turned into ticking bomb as waves of nostalgia hit him like a truck doing 60 in a school zone.
"Oh, this isn't good..." he muttered as he tried regaining his composure. He definitely knew that smell. He knew it better than anyone.
A radiant smile, a warm embrace, and an unfulfilled promise. All those memories, evoked by a tiny whiff of perfume.
"I have to get out of here."
Opening the front door and staggering home, another scent drifted into his nose. The smell of family. The aroma of love and warmth and compassion.
Normally, he would not even notice this smell, as it was the smell that he grew up with. It was part of him and accompanied him since he was a child and his long term exposure to it slowly made it fade into the background light white noise. However, after his parents' passing, he started noticing the smell more and more.
He consciously made the effort to block out the smell whenever he came home, lest he stimulates flashbacks that were better left unprovoked. He had to be careful with their clothing too, as little touches could set off a whole nostalgia train that would not be beneficial for his mental condition.
This was how Cilen was coping. Avoiding memories of his parents and hoping that they would fade with time. But today, he screwed up.
Boy did he screw up...
The scent that he caught hold of today was a catalyst, evoking memories that were quite frankly, better left untouched. His mental resistances were shaken as he stepped back into the house that held a hydrogen bomb equivalent worth of mental stimuli.
It was the final push needed to bust open the collection of memories and emotions that he tried to keep so hard under wraps. The realization that he was alone, that his mother wasn't going to be standing by the kitchen stove, gently smiling at him when he came home. That his father was never going to tossle his hair again or be that one obnoxiously loud parent at his games or give him any "girl advice" when he would finally start dating.
They were gone and they weren't coming back.
"No..."
It was like one of those moments when fear becomes so overwhelming, so real that it becomes paralyzing. Except Cilen wasn't paralyzed with fear nor did he come face to face with it. He was just confused, anxious, and a little overwhelmed from the sudden exposure to long-forgotten stimuli.
"Crap, crap, crap."
"This isn't how things are meant to be."
"What would my parents think?"
"What would they think, seeing me kneeling on the floor, bawling my eyes out?"
Cilen had no answer to the questions flying around in his head. The only response he could come up with, "I just can't disappoint them."
And with that thought deeply ingrained in his mind, Cilen started studying. He started working. Not because he wanted money or an education, he just couldn't disappoint them. Day after day, shift after shift. Cilen would find himself completely drained after each and every day, but it was fulfilling. It was only when he felt absolutely exhausted, did he feel his parents give him the imaginary pat on the back. It was only after he felt completely stripped of his energy did he feel like he was earning his right of the house that his parents had left him.
And this routine of waking up, studying, working became his new life for a while. But somewhere along the line, all his work ceased to be about expectation, rather it gradually shifted to be more about himself. Thus, he constantly kept himself busy, to prevent his mind from wandering.
But these thoughts would still pop up in the dead of night, whispering in his ear like the voice of the devil.
He would think about the things that could of been.
He would think about the things that might have transpired.
He began questioning his every action and the actions of other people.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
"Why am I still stuck here, at the same point in my life?"
"Why is he in a better position even though he is clearly unqualified?"
"Why haven't I progressed in this society?"
Simple.
All the main actors have been chosen since the very day they were born.
Who commands who
Who controls what
All these opportunities went out to the select few destined to come in contact with them.
The rest of us? We struggle and crawl at the feet of those that are in power.
In offices.
In the ministries.
In our society.
And Cilen despised it.
Actually hate is a strong word...
He heavily disapproved of it.
Not the system but fate. The very fate that handed him his ticket to mediocrity. The very fate that made him a slave to "the system" that is, our society.
It was the middle of the night. The dogs have ceased their barking now and the roads were empty. It was a quiet time, devoid of life, bereft of noise, aside from the occasional gust of wind and the gentle rustling of the grass. It was a peaceful time, ideal for a session of self-reflection, or a moment of solitude amongst oneself.
Amongst one of the houses in the street...
Cilen glanced around his room, his work clothes strewn across the carpet, dimly lit by the light of his computer screen, his reflection in the window, haggard, scrawny and tired.
The routine whispers of belittlement rung loudly in his ear with his only solace being the cold caress of the midnight breeze.
Cilen's gaze lingered around his reflection for a second more, wishing that...
"What do I even want?" he sighed,
before succumbing to his exhaustion.
Click, click-click....
The sound of rhythmic mouse-clicking echoed across the room as a pair of bloodshot eyes remained glued to a shining screen and it's contents. The barking of wild, stray dogs rung into the night as the furious drumming of the keyboard finally came to a halt and the figure leant back into his chair with a heavy sigh.
Cilen was you typical, run-of-the-mill kinda guy. He went to your average government-funded high-school, played sports on the weekend, hung out with friends, and read a shit ton of fantasy novels in his free time. Y'know, the typical high school experience.
But things got a little cloudy from there. He didn't know what to do after high school.
Well, he had a vague idea. Something along the lines of attending college, getting a degree, working a nine to five job, marry, retire, and die without too much hassle.
Well, all of that was pretty much set in stone, until his parents passed away when he was seventeen, forcing Cilen to learn to grow up. Fast.
He figured it wouldn't be that bad. He had a house, he had an inheritance, he had friends that kept him company. And at first, it really wasn't anything. He still carried on with high school, still hung out with his friends and besides a few missed meals, he was in tip-top condition.
But after weeks and months of just blatantly ignoring and tuning out everything that involved the death of his parents, the loneliness finally started to sink in.
It was always there, patiently waiting, waiting for the realization to finally settle. Then, the awareness just hits, and it hits you when you're in your most vulnerable.
It was one of your typical Sunday mornings, bright, warm sun, chirpy birds, the smell of freshly baked goods, lingering in the air. Cilen was taking a stroll in the local shopping mall, aimlessly walking around when he caught a whiff of a familiar fragrance from a shop or just an average passerby.
At first, he carried on, as if nothing had happened until the awareness dawned and he realized he knew this smell. And suddenly that innocent passing fragrance had turned into ticking bomb as waves of nostalgia hit him like a truck doing 60 in a school zone.
"Oh, this isn't good..." he muttered as he tried regaining his composure. He definitely knew that smell. He knew it better than anyone.
A radiant smile, a warm embrace, and an unfulfilled promise. All those memories, evoked by a tiny whiff of perfume.
"I have to get out of here."
Opening the front door and staggering home, another scent drifted into his nose. The smell of family. The aroma of love and warmth and compassion.
Normally, he would not even notice this smell, as it was the smell that he grew up with. It was part of him and accompanied him since he was a child and his long term exposure to it slowly made it fade into the background like white noise. However, since his parents' passing, he started noticing the smell more and more.
He consciously made the effort to block out the smell whenever he came home, lest he stimulates flashbacks that were better left unprovoked. He had to be careful with their clothing too, as little touches could set off a whole nostalgia train that would not be beneficial for his mental condition.
This was how Cilen was coping. Avoiding memories of his parents and hoping that they would fade with time. But today, he screwed up.
Boy did he screw up...
The scent that he caught hold of today was a catalyst, evoking memories that were quite frankly, better left untouched. His mental resistances were shaken as he stepped back into the house that held a hydrogen bomb equivalent worth of mental stimuli.
It was the final push needed to bust open the collection of memories and emotions that he tried to keep so hard under wraps. The realization that he was alone, that his mother wasn't going to be standing by the kitchen stove, gently smiling at him when he came home. That his father was never going to tussle his hair again or be that one obnoxiously loud parent at his games or give him any "girl advice" when he would finally start dating.
They were gone and they weren't coming back.
"No..."
It was like one of those moments when fear becomes so overwhelming, so real that it becomes paralyzing. Except Cilen wasn't paralyzed with fear nor did he come face to face with it. He was just confused, anxious, and a little overwhelmed from the sudden exposure to long-forgotten stimuli.
"Crap, crap, crap."
"This isn't how things are meant to be."
"What would my parents think?"
"What would they think, seeing me kneeling on the floor, bawling my eyes out?"
Cilen had no answer to the questions flying around in his head. The only response he could come up with, "I just can't disappoint them."
And with that thought deeply ingrained in his mind, Cilen started studying. He started working. Not because he wanted money or an education, he just couldn't disappoint them. Day after day, shift after shift. Cilen would find himself completely drained after each and every day, but it was fulfilling. It was only when he felt absolutely exhausted, did he feel his parents give him the imaginary pat on the back. It was only after he felt completely stripped of his energy did he feel like he was earning his right of living in the house that his parents had left him.
And this routine of waking up, studying, working became his new life for a while. But somewhere along the line, all his work ceased to be about expectation, rather it gradually shifted to be more about himself. Thus, he constantly kept himself busy, to prevent his mind from wandering.
But these thoughts would still pop up in the dead of night, whispering in his ear like the voice of the devil.
He would think about the things that could of been.
He would think about the things that might have transpired.
He began questioning his every action and the actions of other people.
"Why am I still stuck here, at the same point in my life?"
"Why is he in a better position even though he is clearly unqualified?"
"Why haven't I progressed in this society?"
Simple.
All the main actors have been chosen since the very day they were born.
Who commands who
Who controls what
All these opportunities went out to the select few destined to come in contact with them.
The rest of us? We struggle and crawl at the feet of those that are in power.
In offices.
In the ministries.
In our society.
And Cilen hated it.
Hate is a strong word...
He heavily disapproved of it.
Not the system but fate. The very fate that handed him his ticket to mediocrity. The very fate that made him a slave to "the system" that is, our society.
It was the middle of the night. The dogs have ceased their barking now and the roads were empty. It was a quiet time, devoid of life, bereft of noise, aside from the occasional gust of wind and the gentle rustling of the grass. It was a peaceful time, ideal for a session of self-reflection, or a moment of solitude amongst oneself.
Amongst one of the houses in the street...
Cilen glanced around his room, his work clothes strewn across the carpet, dimly lit by the light of his computer screen, his reflection in the window, haggard, scrawny and tired.
The routine whispers of belittlement rung loudly in his ear with his only solace being the cold caress of the midnight breeze.
Cilen's gaze lingered around his reflection for a second more, wishing that...
"What do I even want?" he sighed,
before succumbing to his exhaustion.