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Author Topic: The story of a man. (A short tale)  (Read 2536 times)

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Offline Sh1k1

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The story of a man. (A short tale)
« on: March 16, 2008, 04:37:21 PM »
This is a short tale I wrote almost exactly one year ago, that stemmed from some heavily burdening personal experiences and some insight into how I was leading my life thus far. I hope you guys enjoy it.



The Story of a Man.

Some give meaning to their lives by acquiring and possessing material things. Some give meaning to their lives by living their dreams.

Others have given meaning to their lives by living their lives for others' sake. By living their lives for the sake of an important someone, of a cherished someone, of a dear someone.

Sometimes, it may only be one person. Sometimes, it might as well be more than one.

Sometimes, they're just holding on for long enough to find that someone, under the neverending curse of not having any meaning to their lives until they do... Of believing, deep in their hearts, that there's absolutely no other reason to cling on to life, and to keep on living...

Of thinking that their existence does not have any meaning, and are therefore rendered useless in everyone else's lives.

To my happiness, and to my disgrace, I happened to be born among this last group. The group of those who feel completely desolated and desperate to have someone to acknowledge their existence, to let their lives be something to be lived for by those too afraid to cling on to life by themselves.

The group of those that need others to feel that they are, in essence and presence, someone worth living, someone cared for, someone cherished.

When I was a kid, I lived only for myself. I was selfish, I was rude, I was daring, but I was pure. I was glad to be alive. I was excited to have new things happen to me. I was protected, I was spoiled, I was a brat. I was... In essence, happy. I was me.

As I grew up, I found out the truth of the world. Living is cruel. Living is gruesome. Living is painful. And my selfishness turned itself into selflessness. My rudeness into kindness. My dare into a colossal cowardice.

And then, though many may argue against it, I discovered the world is soaked in evil. And I, innocent, naïve, ingenuous as I was, became tainted by it.

I became resentful. I became cold-hearted. I became someone as despicable as you couldn't possibly imagine. I became... something else entirely.

I became a devil, forgotten by others, forsaken by myself, cursed by my fate, trapped by my origins and my destiny.

Evil is something that cannot be explained, for the truth is that evil acts cannot be considered such when weighed on the spot. Evil is something that you feel biting away at your feelings, taking chunks of what you are and digesting them, rotting your heart away. Evil is something that can only be seen truthfully, and can only be known truthfully, when you see the actual consequences of the act that has been deemed evil. And by my actions, I became tainted by evil. By my decisions, I became immersed in evil. By my thoughts, I became evil in itself.

And most importantly of all, I became scared. I became afraid of myself. And I awakened to a whole new fear. To an entirely new level of fear, fueled by pain, powered by self-hatred, emblazoned in deadly letters made of a powerful, consuming flame that wouldn't let go unless a gigantic sacrifice was made to it.

Such is the power of impotence towards being able to tell someone else that you need them to feel yourself alive. Such is the power of not knowing what you're capable of, until you find (or, as it happens sometimes, until you trick yourself into thinking you've found) someone for whom you'd be able and willing to die without thinking twice, and without regretting it, not even once.

Throughout all this, I managed to acquire some powerful acquaintances, some important colleagues, some precious comrades, some dearest friends. People that had seen my purity beyond the mask of evil that tainted my appearance, and that accepted me for what I was, and not for what I had become. People that saw the real me, hiding in fear, trying to escape the embrace of a temptress so beautiful, and yet so twisted, that my deepest wishes to go back to what I was, to who I was, had been muted by her insidious, seductive smile.

And thanks to them, I was able to go back to what I was. I was able to claim my very own self back, to deny that cursing prostitute of human feelings the pleasure of continuing to torture me, of continuing to hurt me by forcing me to hurt those precious to me, of keeping me locked between her arms by whispering in my ears lies about how my friends hated me, and only considered me a means of reaching their own ends.

In the end, I was back to being myself... Whom I truly was. True. However, this did not came to happen without a battle, nor without a considerable loss to everyone involved.

I lost mostly everything that had kept me up for so long. I lost my confidence, lost my will to live, lost my desire to do something for others. And those others lost a valuable piece of their lives, as I was to find out much, much later. A part of their lives that, as I'd learn little by little, had moved them around as much as had moved me, and had made them feel happy with what I was, and what they were, both when alone and when around me.

Nonetheless, there is no battle that is without gain. And what was gained on this battle, I have to say that was the most important treasure for me, and the reason I am still here. It was the fact that the people important to me noticed the change inside, and made noticeable efforts to make me back into what I was, and what I meant to them. I was oblivious to this for a while; once I noticed the truth, nevertheless, I understood that my existence was still not without meaning, for I finally had seen with the eyes of truth something to which my own innocence blinded me for so long.

I am here because of them, and they understand that fact. And they help me in the easiest way there is to imagine: making me feel needed by them, useful to them. Making me feel appreciated. And thus, I can be what I want to be: someone whose very existence is validated by helping others.

Now, I know that fact. And that very simple thing makes me one of the happiest men in the entire world.

~DominicanZero
~March 1, 2007
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Offline Alfonse

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Re: The story of a man. (A short tale)
« Reply #1 on: March 16, 2008, 06:16:13 PM »
As a fellow wannabe game programmer and fiction writer myself, I'm in awe and inspired. Nice work. +HEAT
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Offline mewofforcena

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Re: The story of a man. (A short tale)
« Reply #2 on: March 17, 2008, 06:41:18 AM »
As a fellow wannabe game programmer and fiction writer myself, I'm in awe and inspired. Nice work. +HEAT
This.
You've actually written what many among us feel but can't even pull ourselves together to translate into words, or even understand.

It is, indeed, the story of a Man.
« Last Edit: March 17, 2008, 07:04:16 AM by mewofforcena »
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Offline Alzarath

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Re: The story of a man. (A short tale)
« Reply #3 on: March 17, 2008, 12:16:05 PM »
Well, damn.

That was impressive. :o

Offline pherai

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Re: The story of a man. (A short tale)
« Reply #4 on: March 18, 2008, 12:16:58 AM »
tl;dr
I heard anime expo isn't going to be that good this year...

Offline DarthTrey

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Re: The story of a man. (A short tale)
« Reply #5 on: March 18, 2008, 12:11:44 PM »
didn't read it, thought is sucked  :toot:  :prinny:

Offline Alfonse

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Re: The story of a man. (A short tale)
« Reply #6 on: March 24, 2008, 08:17:30 AM »
didn't read it, thought is sucked  :toot:  :prinny:

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Offline NOTxNOT=NOT

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