I'm not Mad

A very short story.

Who decided we have a future? Was it not the arrogance of man? How am I to know that I will still exist tomorrow, or, indeed, if tomorrow exists at all?
Tomorrow I could wake up dead.

We all fear it, yet none of us really know all that much about it. Countless religions and faiths have existed to organise the unknown, to suppress its fearful powers, to simplify and control it.


Humans simply love control. Controlling each other, controlling the world, controlling time.


Invented to be controlled. Don’t be fooled – it can’t run out. Or can it? It never existed, so did it ever begin? Will it ever stop?

Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock…

Will it ever stop?

So many things to think about in that one small, dark room. That suffocating cell with a blackened window that had a crack. A crack which allowed a single, blinding beam to enter and hit the floor. A crack big enough for a wasp to fly through. A wasp that buzzed and buzzed and buzzed and buzzed.

I killed that wasp with my bare hands.

Why a dark room? Why not a light room? Because the darkness is unpleasant. Fears lurk in the shadows. Their fictitious threat is enough to drive you mad. But I’m not mad. I’m most certainly not mad. Regardless of what anyone says, I’m not mad. Don’t believe them! I’m not mad.

I’m different.

Different from who? Who knows? Is anyone really the same? As far as I can tell, most of us look different. We all think different; eat different; hate different; love different.


That tingly feeling, so often described with an attractive rosy glacé that makes our whole life worth living. It is in fact a painful thing. It uses you for all you’re worth then stabs you in the back. It waits until you have given all you can give before locking you in an asylum and fleeing the country.


Such an odd concept thought up of by humans.  “Let’s cut up the world, any way we see fit.” But they’re never satisfied with their share. Never. They want more. More, more, more. So they come, they see and they conquer. Regardles of the sacrifices made, or the loss of life.


Such a delicate flower amidst a harsh storm. Some bloom brighter, some have deeper roots. Some are lost gracefully, after the fulfilment of a lifelong ambition. Others just wisp away, unnoticed. Others are stolen.


Is it ever really stealing? How do you know it was yours in the first place? What makes your claim to it stronger than mine? Because you bought it with money.


The currency of a nation can influence its power. The wealth of a man can secure his future and influence his friends.


Some are superficial, some are true. Differentiating between the two is where the difficulty lies. Mostly, they are made out of convenience. The help choose where to sit, where to go. They act as guides, like candles in the night. But they can quickly flicker out and leave you all alone.

It’s lonely to be alone. All alone in the darkness. I miss that wasp. 

The End

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