When I Die

Waste

My life is a waste. I have absolutely no idea why I'm here in the first place. I don't know why the hell God / Fate / Whatever decided to just drop me into this world like an overgrown baboon. I have no purpose here. I have no business. I have no goals. I'm not even living my bloody life. I'm just wasting it.

At first, I thought that it's 'hope' that carries me through the day. But now it's not even that. I don't go to bed everyday expecting - nay, hoping - that things will get better the next day. I don't have any idea of the future. There's nothing awaiting me out there. So why the hell am I torturing every single cell in my body, just by surviving?

And it is torture. My body cries out. It's sick of living for nothing. It's sick of working and studying and missing sleep for no apparent reason. It's tired of dragging itself on and on everyday. I'm honestly surprised about how I'm still so bloody fit. I mean, by now, I should've become this skinny fella with no body mass whatsoever, and a big hunchback and whiplash and all those things.

Why the hell can't a bloody comet from outer space just hit me? Why can't aliens abduct me and perform all those stupid tests? Why can't some cult kidnap me and make me a sacrifice for their God? Why can't I fall off a mountain? Why can't a psychopathic killer decide that 'Chimpy is my next victim'? Why?

You know, it takes me less than five seconds to swing from the 'quiet-and-normal-and-sober' state to the 'not-so-normal-and-ultra-frustrated-and-depressed-state'. Everyday ends the same bloody way. Every night I'm saying to myself, 'why the hell did I just live for another sick day?'

It's impossible. Everything around me reminds me of something depressing. Everything. And as always, there's a deep sense of sorrow in everything I do. As if I had something, and I lost it. I don't even know what I had. And then there are the times when something inside me wants something desperately. It's an aching. I can't really describe it. I don't even know what it is that I want. but the feeling is there. And then something else inside me tells me that I can't ever really have anything I want.

Earlier, when I used to look at myself from a third-person perspective, I used to feel like crying. Now I feel like smiling and laughing. There's something sarcastically humorous about what I have become. It's really funny. I mean, imagine, just for a second, that like Jim Carrey in 'The Truman Show', my life was being broadcast over satellite, like, 24 hours a day. I bet it'd be a bloody hit. And it'd be full of laughs. I make those insane faces while brushing my teeth too.

The only thing is that it's not made up, unlike The Truman Show. This is my life. And I'm sick of it. Please, can anybody lend me their life for a day and take mine instead? I mean, anybody.

Jesus, I need to get out of here. I need to get away. I need a bloody vacation. I need to just shut the world out for like, ten whole bloody days. Maybe that'd help. Say, anyone know a nice little vacation spot that'd allow me like, ten days of stay? For free?

No?

Thought so. Nothing's free. Except Pain.

Hell yeah, that's a nice little line, isn't it?
Nothing is free; Except pain.

I'm sorry. I know the line sucks, but I'm feeling pretty peppy, as I just realized that I ACTUALLY WON A CONTEST! REALLY! So now there's a big awardicon sitting on 'Gabriella', a short story which of course, is in the short story folder. The contest was called 'The Kiss', where a kiss [or the emotion it conveys] formed the core of the story. So I entered this story. I checked out the other entries, and half of them were romance stories. The other half? Erotica. You know, the kind where hunk-meets-ravishing-beauty-bedroom-bed-soft lights-overcharged hormones-moans-grunts-more moans-hush-'I love you'-they-live-(and sleep)-happily-ever-after.

[Now I apologize to all erotica writes out there, I've got nothing against you, nor against Erotica. It's just that anything related to love seems unreal and impossible to me. You know, it's a case of the fox-crying-'grapes are sour'-because-he-can't-eat-'em.

Hey, you know something, It's really funny. If I do write erotica, I mean. It'd look really funny. Ha, whoever heard of a virgin chimp writing erotica? Um, and I'm not sure people would like reading about the first story that this chimp would write, titled, 'Baboon Bums - Parts 1,2,3'
]

Okay, to get back to the point, with that entry, I felt like the odd man out. And now it's won. Impossibility upon impossibility. I'm sure it was just a freak. But now, since I'm feeling overly elated, if you find ten horrible new stories and novels in my port tomorrow, don't blame me... blame the contest judges for letting me win
[And blame [I mean 'thank'] Kali for giving me some great editing tips for that story. ]


More in the next entry,
chimpy.

When You're Surrounded By Guilt And Fears,
A Fallen Angel Can See Your Tears

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"Time had a beginning, and therefore,
logically, it will have an end.
We weren't there when time began.
Nor will we be there to witness its end."
---- Stephen Hawkings


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