A - Inside The Mind Of Seth Kingsley (PT1)
DescriptionTo Know Who I Am, First You Have To Understand Why I Am.
|This writing has been rated by 3 members, resulting in a rating of 81% overall. Below is a breakdown of these results:|
|Spelling & Grammar:||81.666666666667%|
Just something I wrote before doing Willows Run. And something for you guys to read while i work on Chapter 4 of Willows Run. Prologue Inside The Mind Of Seth Kingsley. Part 1: Living - Beginning I saw a baby be born today. Another life coming into the world. And I couldn't help but think how unfortunate. People smile and cry tears of joy when we bring another life into this world. But I cant help but see the down side. Then again, why not celebrate the coming of another life. Another to endure the world we live in. I walk outside, look around. Try and take it all in. Every angle. Everyface. But thats impossible. Walk down the road and see faces, see people, see life. People going about there lives. Take a cigarrete from the pack, light it and take a long draw back. Blow smoke into the air. And right there. Thats life. Something people just blow away and it dissipates. Some try and hold onto it. Some just throw away something they perhaps shouldn't. But thats there choice. Im just the observer. I sit down on a street bench. What is the great purpose we serve? Breathing and existing. I sit and watch. The slowness of the day flowing pass and the feeling of nothing but this, this existance we are to accept. If we are living to serve a greater purpose then why have we not yet found it? And what would be the greater purpose than existing to keep on existing. Perhaps its just a flawed look, a flawed opinion. Maybe its the truth. I'm not one to say it is or isn't. I sit longer, finish the cigarette and throw it on the ground. In the grand scheme of things, we live a routine. We work, sleep, eat and pay bills and try and entertain ourselves. We have friends, family. But in the end, just ourselves. Part 2: Loving I find the concept that is love to be a difficult one. Why do we do it? Its nothing but pain. Sometimes happyness. But it depends on the person, the people and a the ultimate question of why? Its all a game. Lies and manipulation. See how far one can push the point or how far one can push the boundaries of another. I walk a bit. Look at faces, look at people, look at couples, look at loners. I see a man kissing a woman on the street and then he turns to walk away. Takes a ring from his pocket and slides it back on his finger. I keep walking. It leads me to believe love is a lie. You cant help but look at someone and wonder there thoughts. I see a couple. Young. The guy all happy, the girl wearing a fake smile. She to him is a lie. Hiding a truth. Her body says it all. She is with someone else. He has no idea. There is a family there to. A Husband, a wife, a child. Perfectly happy. Perhaps there is success in this game they call love. Its a rarity. I try to grasp it. try to let the feeling of this so called love flow into me and fill me. But always it comes and goes like nothing. is just another empty feeling. I just fail to see or understand why one would punish themselves with it. You think you know someone. Love them. But in the end they told you what you wanted to hear. To keep the lie going. To work out themselves. Then leave you. I walk into an apartment block. Not mine. Up a few flights of stairs. Up to the roof. A vantage point. Walk over to the edge and stand and look out. Refreshing breeze passes over me. For a second I think i feel it. Look down upon the city below, people going about life. I think to myself, how do we give love to someone else when we don't truly understand it ourselves. What is love, but a part of life so that we aren't alone in the monotonous cycle that is life. Perhaps we need to love ourselves before we can claim to love anyone else. Part 3: Dying I saw a girl die today. I sat across the road sucking back on the slow death of a cigarette. I look around and notice a crowd to my right across the road looking up. A girl, no more than 16 years old standing on top of the building, looking down. Totally calm. They try and talk her out of it. She says "Im young, but i have seen my share, and im ready" she steps off. She hits the ground, people call for an ambulance, but she is gone. It makes me think, well, we all have to choose. She was ready, so why not end it on your own terms. Its our life. People in a panic. I take a last draw, throw it on the ground, stand and walk away. I walk and round the corner. Stop. Look up at the sky. The day is slow, dim, colourless. As if in a black and white state of nothing-ness. Empty souls. I chose not to look back at what they call an "Accident". It was a choice. Hers. So for her, I feel free. Disconnected. It's the same everyday. Someone dies. By their own hand, by someone elses, by nature or something in between. We dont understand death and what it is. It just happens. We know not of what is after our light goes out. I enter a coffee store, order, take a seat and ponder that. Its a cycle. Like grass. You cut it, it will re-grow. Someone dies, another is born. Simple. But why do we live our lives worried about the inevitable that is? Coffee gets placed on my table. I look into the blackness. Maybe thats what we see at the end. An endless tunnel of black, an endless tunnel of nothing but black. I look up and out the window. An ambulance goes passed. Lights on. I knew it was her. They televise it everyday. The News. Another tradgedy in some part of the world. In there own country, town. I fail to see the point in televising it. Just makes me ask, yet again, why? Coffee has cooled enough by now. I drink its warmth. And for a moment I feel something inside. But like the warmth inside, like life. It fades. Fades away to nothing. Part 4: Living - End I take the last cigarette from the pack. Light it. Draw back and exhale. The day is drawing to a close. The last ounce of warmth is fading. The day is like life. It starts. It ends. We live, love, die and then it starts again. One life fades. Another begins. I walk to my apartment block. Up the front steps. Turn and look down the street. Then up. Open the door and make my way to my apartment. A sense of unfullfilment dawns on me. But there is nothing I can do now. Perhaps being an observer to this world. To these lives. To my own life is but a failure in itself. A by stander in the greater scheme of things. As if a shadow to everyone. Afraid to be seen. Afraid of life, love and dying. So I sit. Smoke. Observe. I feel it might be just lifes imperfections that scare me. Or my lack of understanding for such things like life. No one understand truly why we exist, just that we do. Maybe its my inabilty to love or feel that someone can get close, as a fear of being hurt - again. I may just be scared of dying. Its sudden. But it is a cycle. I walk to the window. Take one last look out. Turn grab my pen and book and open to a blank page and write "Understanding The Mind Of Seth Kingsley" I now feel a small sense of accomplishment. Surviving another day. But that's just today. Tomorrow is another. Another day as an observer. So in the end. We might have these small things to make life that something more. To make us feel we serve a great purpose, even if we don't truly know what it is. But maybe not knowing is better than knowing. So we can live in pure ignorance. So perhaps this just it. This is just what we call. Life.