Insanity... What is Insanity? If you ask me, I would like to answer, but I'm too busy. The alarm shrieked, jolting me awake. I fumbled for the snooze button, silencing the infernal device. My eyes, heavy with sleep, slowly blinked open. The world outside my window was still shrouded in the soft, gray light of dawn. I dragged myself out of bed and headed to the bathroom. The cold tiles against my bare feet were a shock to the system. A quick shower, a splash of cold water on my face, a routine as old as time. I pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, a mundane uniform for a mundane day. Breakfast was hasty , a bowl of cereal, a cup of coffee. I glanced at the newspaper, the headlines as predictable as the weather. Another day, another dollar, I stepped out of my apartment, the city was already stirring. People hurried by, lost in their own thoughts. The noise of traffic, the chatter of strangers, filled the air. I walked the familiar streets, my mind a blank slate, The office building loomed ahead, a concrete monolith. Inside, the fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the rows of desks. The air was stale, the atmosphere oppressive. I sat at my desk, a prisoner of the nine-to-five grind. The computer screen blinked at me, a judge. Hours ticked by, each minute a monotonous eternity. The same tasks, the same routines, day after day. I watched my coworkers, their faces marked with boredom and frustration. They were trapped, just like me, in a cycle of work, sleep, and repeat. The pursuit of happiness is now a distant dream. I longed for something more, something real, something exciting. But the world offered only monotony and mediocrity. The same old story, played out countless times. I wondered what it would be like to break free, to live life on my own terms. To defy expectations, to embrace the unknown. But the fear of failure, the fear of the unknown, held me back. Sometime I wanted to kill myself, but that is a loss, I don't like losing.. The shrill ring of my phone jolted me from my reverie. It was Mr. Dalton, my boss, a man in his late forties, perpetually stressed and perpetually overcaffeinated. His voice, a grating monotone, speak through the receiver. "Heinrich, I need that report by the end of the day. Don't disappoint me." A wave of irritation. Another mundane task, another pointless deadline. I muttered a noncommittal "Yes, Mr. Dalton," and hung up, I needed a break. A strong cup of coffee, perhaps. I headed downstairs to the company cafeteria, a dreary, fluorescent-lit space filled with the usual suspects. "Hey, Heinrich," a voice interrupted my thoughts. It was Noel, a young, ambitious analyst, always eager to please. He was in his early thirties, a classic overachiever, the kind of person who believed hard work was the key to success. "Hey, Noel," I replied, my voice devoid of emotion. I wondered if he'd ever question the emptiness behind his smile, the desperation in his eyes. I returned to my desk, the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders. I scrolled through my phone, a mindless distraction. The endless stream of social media updates, the constant noise of the digital world, it all seemed so pointless, I closed my eyes, letting the silence wash over me. The world, with all its noise and chaos, faded into the background. In the quiet, I found a strange sense of peace. A peace that was both comforting and unsettling. What Is The Purpose of Living, If it felt like dying.. The clock ticked relentlessly, each second a torment. The cursor blinked, a mocking reminder of the endless stream of work. Finally, the last keystroke through the silent office. The task was complete, another victory over boredom, I stepped out of the building, the city was bathed in the soft glow of twilight. The air was cool, the sky painted with hues of orange and purple. I walked the familiar streets, my mind adrift in a sea of thoughts. The world, a stage, and we, mere actors, playing our assigned roles. A society built on illusions, an act of happiness and contentment. A sudden commotion drew my attention. A cluster of police cars surrounded the building next door. Yellow tape, a stark symbol of tragedy, cordoned off the crime scene. Curiosity piqued, I approached the scene, observing the officers at work. A young detective, his face marked with fatigue, was interviewing a neighbor. A forensic team, clad in white suits, meticulously examined the crime scene. The news quickly spread: a suicide. A young man, alone and desperate, had taken his own life. A senseless act, a tragic waste of potential. As I stood there, a cold realization. Life, so fragile, so fleeting. A single moment, a single decision, could alter the course of existence. The police began to disperse, the scene slowly returning to normalcy. But the image of the lifeless body, the despair in the detective's eyes, lingered in my mind. What had driven him to such a desperate act? Was it the weight of the world, the crushing pressure of societal expectations? Or was it something more sinister, a darkness lurking beneath the surface? I turned away from the crime scene, the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders. The city, once vibrant and alive, now seemed cold and indifferent. The noise of the traffic, the chatter of pedestrians, it all felt hollow, meaningless, I approached my apartment building, a sense of dread is what I felt over me. The world, with all its beauty and promise, could also be a cruel and unforgiving place. A single misstep, a moment of weakness, could lead to tragedy. I unlocked the door to my apartment, a small sanctuary in a chaotic world. The weak light, the familiar scent of dust and solitude, offered a momentary respite. I sank into my armchair, lost in thought. The image of the lifeless body, the despair in the detective's eyes, continued to haunt me. I thought about the man's life, his hopes, his dreams, his fears. What had gone wrong? Had he felt alone, misunderstood, insignificant? Or perhaps he had simply lost his way, a victim of circumstance. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that we are all fragile creatures, teetering on the edge of despair. The thin line between hope and despair, sanity and madness, is often blurred. A single moment of weakness, a single misstep, can shatter our world. I closed my eyes, trying to find solace in the quiet. But the noise of the city, continued to intrude on my thoughts. I yearned for peace, for tranquility, but the world offered only chaos and uncertainty. As I drifted off to sleep, a question lingered in my mind: What is the meaning of life? Is it the pursuit of happiness, the accumulation of wealth, the pursuit of power? Or is it something more, something deeper, something more profound? Perhaps it is in the quiet moments, the moments of solitude, that we can truly connect with ourselves and find meaning in our lives. End Thanks For Reading The Prologue, Leave a comment and critique!