Reality is what everyone considers a harsh environment. There is no one who is exempt, and so each day would be filled with constant noise and activity. Some will say, 'That's how it goes.', others would complain, 'It's so unfair'. Yet no one can really argue against them, as these common statements ring true, whether they like it or not.
*Honk! Honk!* *Beep! Beep! Beep!* *Honk!!*
One such city is filled with these examples. No pavement is scarce, for every area is crowded. The continuous beeping and honking of horns from vehicles, the smell of putrid gas and smog stung clear in the air.
There is no sunlight, and it isn't a clear day either. Sky full of clouds and coloured gray, but not a single drop of rain.
Seemingly impressive buildings and skyscrapers are fully erect and would have stood out, but that can be said for every other place in the world, and so the local populace, even tourists, ignored them.
It would have been lively with all the noise, but chattering is not there. No one is conversing with one other person, everyone is fending for themselves.
Litter and wastes of trash is present everywhere, but no one is volunteering to pick them up, only those intended for such type of work.
Beggars lay rugged and dirty on the sidewalks asking for a spare of change from anyone's pockets, yet no one responds to their small plead.
Yes, this is a typical place on earth, not really as common as every other place but it's still up there. But no one truly cares. No one truly cares for anything other than themselves, maybe even some friends or loved ones, but other than that? Nothing.
Reality does not expect anyone to be a hero or some sort of justice cop, but a part of the working cogs of society. One must work and bleed, lest they wish to starve and die on their own.
No one should expect to fulfill their dreams, Reality does not exist for such purposes.
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The room is silent, only the ticking of a mechanical clock is present.
*Tick*
The walls of cement are painted white, but it seems so gray with how dim the lighting is.
*Tock*
The only source of illumination present is a lightbulb hanging in the middle of the ceiling, and the glowing screen of a machine, but even then it is weak.
*Tick*
There is no entry way for air and oxygen, not even a hint of sunlight, nothing but a single wooden door, locked from the outside, can possibly allow such a thing.
*Tock*
Balled up pieces of paper litter the area around a small basket, which is already filled to the brim with trash.
It's not a room one would have stayed in for a couple of hours, not even for a few minutes, almost no sign of life can be detected within the vicinity...
Almost.
*Tick*
*Tock*
*Tick*
*Tock*
*Ti-
"SHUT UP!"
Suddenly, a shout had rang across. The only person present would have jumped in suprise, if it wasn't him who was shouting.
The person sighed, his voice tired and coarse sounding.
"...It seems I'm getting more crazier than a senile old war vet back from the 1900's, I'm surprised I'm still not locked up in a mental ward full of other weirdos more weirder than me..."
He sighed again, this time sounding more exasperated.
"Why am I doing this again? Oh right, cause I'm an idiot.."
He was slumped in a simple chair, his arms crossed and flat on top of a wooden desk, filled with nothing but a cheap-looking laptop, a few pens and pencils, a stack of paper, and a thick looking book which was opened up.
"Why am I talking out loud? Because, again, me an idiot."
One arm was raised and was scratching the back of his head, rustling mocha coloured hair, while the other was soundly tapping wood.
This person, is not what one would consider the ideal working cog, because one would expect it to be doing so for the sake of aiding one's financial life, or "feeding the kids", or "sending checks to some chick that has his kids, which she feeds, every sunday afternoon".
This 'person', however, is doing so for the sake of, in the eyes of the common folk, nothing. So why is that?
Said person is now working on his laptop, with an emotionless mask on his face. Audible typing now conjoining with the sounds of constant ticking.
'Anyhow, I promised my readers to post this between thursday and next monday, with next monday being today.'
Even if this one was not doing so for the sake of money, he was not doing it for the sake of enjoyment, yet he still works, still persists, on doing his own self made job.
No one would expect a person like him to survive, let alone pay his taxes, but he manages to do so anyways. In fact, he actually does have a job, a paying job, which has been helping him hold on to his own financial problems, and allowed him to do what he is currently doing. His salary isn't big, but it is slightly more paying than minimum wage.
Reality expects everyone to work, there will be no exceptions to the rule.
The young man's tongue clicked, groaning every few seconds.
'This part was supposed to be easy to translate! I can't seem to get this right.'
His gaze fell towards the piece of thick literature, eyes narrowing with hints of slight, sarcastic hatred.
'Curse you stupid book, you and your stupidly hard to understand transcript.'
He stood still in place, glaring at his posession, before looking away, sighing once more.
'I wish I could travel back in time, so I could beat the ever-living crap out of old me... why did I make all of this in the first place??'
He banged his head on the desk rather strongly. A weak mutter of 'ouch' escaped his lips.
'Do I even have to ask myself that? I. Am. An. Idiot.'
He continued banging his head on the wooden furniture, this time with lesser force. He did not want to risk having a concussion at this time of the day.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
The man currently resides in a city full of disturbance and pollution, so when he first arrived here he made sure to rent an apartment secluded from civilization and the noise that it carried. He was rather thankful for himself that he found one, he was also especially thankful to the landlord -which he expected to be a crazy alcoholic or some lunatic drug lord, considering how he perceived the entire state of the city- who was surprisingly a very kind and caring old lady, who would spend her time visiting his place every now and then. God knows where he would have ended up in if he wasn't so lucky back then.
'Welp, time to finish this I guess.'
He glanced again at the exposed content of the book, and resumed typing at the portable computer, constantly shifting his eyes from one to the other.
'Her hands, now imbued with the shifting powers of the faerie, was gently placed on the Caretaker's wounded chest, blood and tissue slowly closing. It is nature's divine gift to the brides of the forest, the blessing of one of the Thirteen Gods, Chrysante. One who is granted this power can manifest [Faith Healing], a magic strong enough to restore a body's own cells, it can achieve efficiency 3 times faster than troll regeneration. If the user is provoked, one can manifest [Entangling Snare], magic capable of ensnaring even Tier VII monsters.....'
*Tick*
It was now evident that he was completely immersed in his work, his eyes read while his hands translate, almost nothing can ever stop his absolute concentration
*Tock*
This is Maxi Seymour, a person born from matrimony, a self sufficient working cog of society. He is somewhat famous for what he does in the large and vast space of the Internet... which is creating web fiction.
*Tick*
He first accepted his slowly growing popularity with avid fantasy readers and casual ones with a grain of salt, *ahem*, an entire ocean. But he grew accustomed to that fact, and now he works to satisfty his fans, no matter how aggravating it is to him.
*Tock*
Yet even still, he continues doing his 'hobby', not for his own sake, possibly nothing even. But one clear fact is etched in his mind. He does it for people he has no connection to, people who are complete strangers to him, because he can.
*Tick*
And so, he continues to work, not even hearing the sounds of his own typing, nor the sounds of his clock's ticking.
*Tock*
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*Tic-
A paper ball struck the only source of sound in the room, but does not interrupt the mechanism's duty.
*Tock*
*Tick*
*Tock*
The man named Maxi, sighed again, for seemingly the nth time.
*Tick*
"Guh, my brain hurts. I need medical assistance..."
*Tock*
*Ding* *Dong* *Ding*
He glanced at the clock's hands, all pointing to twelve.
"Huh, what do you know? I finished on time I guess?"
He averted his eyes from the large form of the clock on the room and gazed at the words present on the screen of the laptop.
'Volume 6 - Chapter 24, I forgot how much I've typed.'
His face, no matter how blank it looks, is visibly tired. Eyes are slightly baggy, fingers are slightly cramped from excessive use, but not so much as compared to when he first starting typing, he couldn't hold objects or do even menial tasks involving his hands for an hour during one time.
He started closing all the open applications in his laptop before shutting it down.
Realizing how truly tired he must have been, he got up from his desk and started to stretch so much that it would have broke his back. He thanks his late mother for putting him through all those yoga class, for that wasn't the case at all.
Yawning loudly, he started heading out for the door.
'I should get back to bed I guess, I need so much sleep.'
Before being able to touch the doorknob, a tired realization struck his mind.
'Oh yeah...book.'
He moved from the doorway and started to go back to his deck. He picked up his book with a slight huff, and strode off again towards the only exit.
But not before turning off the lights.
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After closing the door behind him, he had his one arm clutching the thick piece of literature, before walking across the small and familiar hallway.
It wasn't much, and unlike his 'office', there is no lighting installed, so it was quite dark. But since it was only narrow, he only had to go forward with his free hand in front as guidance until he got to the other end.
He can install one anytime if he wants to, but meh...
Once he reached his destination, he opened the door and greeted the sight in front of him.
It was slightly larger than his 'office', which was still small. But since his apartment was only meant to accommodate one person, it was enough for him.
On the left side was his simple kitchen/living room, on the right was his bed, In front was the entrance to the apartment, which was also dubbed "Portal to the outside world". All in all it was very cramped.
He wanted to ask the old lady why a bedroom wasn't included for more space, but with how cheap the rent is, his small complaints were tossed right out the window. He still thought it to be weird though, why have a hallway when there is not much room to occupy, why not directly connect his office with this one? Heck, even the office itself has more space to occupy...
Well at least this room has two lights in it so it was fairly bright... yay?
But he wasn't here to observe his oh so 'spacious' room, he was here to go to bed and sleep.
And so he did just that, the book he kept carrying finally stored on the drawers of his bedside table. All the lights are finally turned off, all that's left is the illuminating light of the moon emanating from the window.
Last but not least, he broke out a sigh once more, the last one for today after all the stress from earlier. Then when tomorrow comes, it's back to same old work. He silently chuckled, it's always been the same routine for him for the last couple of years now.
Wake up. Shower. Eat. Go to work. Go home. Do 'hobby'. Sleep. And then start over....
He never imagined what life would really be like when he was a kid. He always had a knack to say stuff and proclaim to do something impossible, like be king of the amazon or something incredibly stupid... when he thought about it, a small tinge of sadness came upon him..
Gone were the days of being the innocent child, and all the cherished moments of childhood.. All that's left is the by-product of what he once was...
An adult who works for a living, how sad. It wasn't how he pictured it to be.
There was no sort of canvas for anyone's dreams, it was either do or don't. If you don't pay attention enough, every possible chance given to you would be lost. Time doesn't wait for anyone, you'd be left out and forgotten if you go too slow. Go too fast and you'll forget yourself. Go steady and nothing will happen. Either three bear the same results...
You're not truly happy, you won't fulfill anything absolute and expect it to stick with you permanently. You can hold your greatest happiness in the palm of your hands for a few seconds, and then after that you lose it, and you'll never ever get it back again.
Every single thing present in the world is only momentary, whether they would be good or bad, they don't exist forever.
Such as the naivety he had wished to get back. He wanted to dream again, wanted to fantasize.
'Too bad for me, I have to be 'responsible' now.'
Well, at least what he currently does allows him to recreate those moments, even if it had only given them small remnants of satisfaction to him. It's what he does best, and that's fine by him.
He glanced at the drawer where the book was kept, reminiscing all of those years of writing. It felt good, no matter how fake it all seemed to him.
A gift, that was what that book was originally. It was empty at first, but then he started writing about all the crazy things he fantasized about, all of his imagination dumped on its every page. Man was he such a fantasy geek. It's not like he isn't right now, but he certainly wasn't shouting "For the Horde!" off the top of his lungs out on public anymore, war gear and all of that.
His tastes in art and literature wasn't really diverse, so long as it's based off of fantasy, he could spend some, if not most of his time enjoying it. A simple man he is.
And now he gave all of his input about his favorite genre and took like what, 3-4 years making it? That pretty much gauges how much he really loved fantasy works. Did he regret doing it? Probably, but if he hadn't done it, he would have been worse off by now.
He realized how much he had been thinking once he noticed that he had been subconsciously staring at the ceiling for so long. Enough was enough for him, lest he wishes to face punishment from his boss for being late... again.
And so, he let out a small breath of air, relaxed his body, and slowly closed his eyes.
'I wonder if I'll dream? I'd probably forget it first thing in the morning.'
Again, he never realized how tired he actually felt, for the moment his vision became obscure, his consciousness faded almost as quickly as well.
The room was silent, and at present, no ticking is heard.
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Silence reigned supreme, for so long did the young man sleep. Weak snores escape his lips, his chest slowly rising and falling. A peaceful ambience is all that is present, everything else but the slumbering form of Maxi seems frozen in place.
Yet even so, a scene such as this will only last for so long.
On the left side of the bed, a small and thin tendril, obscured from color, slowly emerged from the ground. It rose farther and farther, becoming more longer in length, until it reached the height of the ceiling. For a moment it stayed still, it's form seemingly gazing upon the figure of the bed's only occupant.
Soon after, similar tendrils emerged. All of them surrounding the young man.
"˙ɹǝʇsɐɯ 'plɹoʍ sıɥʇ ɹoɟ ʇuɐǝɯ ʇou sı 'ǝsodɹnd ʇɐǝɹƃ ɹnoʎ"
An ominous chorus of filtered voices so unrecognizable invaded the silence, it drowned out the stillness of the atmosphere, the room now looking more dark and concealed to anyone's eyes.
A black hole like substance appeared from beneath Maxi's body, the surface of the bed itself no longer visible.
The tendrils soon wrapped around him, the pitch black constructs of unknown origin pulling him away.
It looked as if he was sinking, the actions of the tendrils looked impossible, the manifestations themselves were not bound by the laws of physics, no scientific explanation can be given for such an occurence.
This, however unfeasible, was a clear exemption from the universal ordinance declared by Reality, it has not expected this to happen.
"˙ɹǝɟsuɐɹʇ ɹnoʎ ǝɔuǝɯɯoɔ uɐɔ ǝʍ ʍou puɐ 'lɐʌıɹɹɐ puɐɹƃ ɹnoʎ ɹoɟ [ʇsǝɟıuɐɯ] ɹǝdoɹd ǝɥʇ ǝɹnɔoɹd oʇ pǝlƃƃnɹʇs ǝʌɐɥ ǝʍ 'sɹɐǝʎ ɹoɟ"
Maxi's body now started to gradually fade, submerging in the cold stone tiles of his apartment floor.
"˙pǝuǝʌɹǝʇuı ǝq ʇou llɐɥs ɹǝqɯnls ɹnoʎ ˙ǝuo ǝuıʌıp 'pǝɹnssɐ ʇsǝɹ"
Reality attempted the prevention of this man's kidnapping. But no results bear fruit to success, nor was a single progress made.
A working cog of society has soon become fictional, for he was no more, and no trace of his own existence lingered within Reality's fabrics. He was truly gone.
Silence had once again taken over, this time remaining absolute.
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Out of the corner of the room, a soft luminous glow had shone from within the drawers of where the book was kept. The whizzing of pages being flipped were audibly heard, before the sound had vanished immediately, along with the mysterious illumination of light.
The object in question? Gone, like the last victim of unexplainable circumstances.
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-End-
Mistakes may have been made, English is not my first language.
Thank you for reading. As an inexperienced author, I hope you leave me some sort of criticism so I can better myself at writing.
*Salute*