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abstract thoughts. a short story
Abstract Thoughts - by djchrono
The tangled rays of light entwine themselves throughout the thick air, as a westward wind blows endlessly over the star laden reflections of a motionless stream. The brisk night air revives remnants of a dream long forgotten. I tread threw the knee-high rushes, continuing the infinite journey through the eternal night. The destination is no more than an illusion of thought intertwined by the bounds of reality and certainty; of abstraction and hesitation. Nevertheless the journey never halts, for an unknown destination still encourages hope, whereas no destination encourages self degeneration. Is it worth continuing an endless struggle if victory is unobtainable? Is it worth enduring the ravages of time if conclusion is impossible…? One can only conclude that the struggle itself is worth more than a conclusion, for there would be no end if there was not a beginning. Each day I wake to find myself surrounded in a world. A world filled with corruption… But isn’t this corruption what creates beauty? The line between truth and concept is blurred. Endless thoughts fill his mind, but he is not stirred. These thoughts are what fuels his drive to capture the very essence of life. He glares at the digital figures under the glossy surface of his watch. It is time to carry on with his daily schedule. After all, the systematic structure of life is what keeps us productive. He casually strides over to his slate black BMW, firmly gripping onto the keys as they unlock the door. The black leather of the seat embraces him. Beads of rain strike the windshield, but he remains safe within the confines of his automobile. Through the window forms can be distinguished between the blurred lines of lights and traffic, forms of people living lives that never were. Forms of actions that never took place, conversations that never were uttered, and instances that only exist because he experienced them. And though the car never moved, he has traveled beyond what is humanly describable. He has lived a thousand years, and yet he has never been born. Unstirred, he continues with his day as if nothing has happened. And at the end of it all, he has arrived back at the start, day after day, a thousand times. But each day proclaims a new truth, each time proclaims a new certainty. And with this certainty, one can begin to describe what this life presents.
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