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Life is an endless cycle that repeats itself every day. The daily schedule varies for each person, but it is a constant sequence. For thousands of years, humans have evolved to embrace the normal, and reject change. This varies widely from culture to culture, and these ideas have been passed down as a custom of entertainment and a means of exposing our beliefs that we are imperative to civilization. I have just begun to comprehend this concept, for now I have truly experienced this series.
Weeks after weeks, days after days, hours after hours, I spend fettered to the confines of human nature. I have fallen into an abysmal dimension of an interminable labyrinth, trapped within its precincts. Each day I repeat my actions from the day before, seeking an exit from this insipid warren without success. I hear the voices of bliss, love, and, most of all anguish, taunting my withered spirit as I trudge on in my futile journey.
My mind is blank, as if I have lost all capability to control an independent mind, and I am becoming more robot than human. The corpses and bones that line the tunnels no longer molest me, for it has become a familiar incidence. If they were to vanish at one point, I would think that this is strange, for I have grown accustomed to them. I have nearly been assimilated to the eccentric culture of this parallel.
I can feel my energy depleting, but I must continue my voyage. While there is life, there is hope, but there is very little life left, and therefore, very little hope for my poor soul. Yet I persist, for my brain has been rewired to perform like an automaton, and I am stuck in an endless loop. Happiness, freedom, and love have all become very distant thoughts; I am only reminded of such notions by the tortuous cries that shackle me to the previous life. I am no longer there, so why must I remember? Maybe it is for the better, for if I forget, I may become inhuman: a being that is incapable of processing the primal ideas that have given humans the grand title of the supreme species. Forgetting these emotions would undermine the foundations of life, and then I would be truly lost. I would be an inanimate object that contains all the characteristics of a living thing, but does not possess free will.
This is the only belief that could bear the weight of my perpetual suffering, and it is the only belief that restricts me from becoming an uncompassionate, unsympathetic, living –or should I say, non-living –thing. So I march onward, hoping to reach the outlet of this miserable residence, and will not cease my attempts for success until I reach my paramount objective: reinhabitation of my previous existence.
Reality suggests that pragmatism obstructs any conspicuous general characterization of human beings as thinkers and subjects of experience and, alternatively, the objects of their knowledge, beliefs, and experience.
If I ever return to humanity, I will enlighten others of my traumatic experiences in this tormenting domain.
Thanks for reading my third pasta! I hope you enjoyed it. I am currently writing two other stories, so be sure to check my page. I may use this idea in an upcoming story, but it will not be released until I am finished with the stories I am currently working on. Happy Holidays-Dan and Wyatt
This work is original and all rights go to Daniel Sawyer