Itch

It was a day like any other. Everyone was living their lives. So was he.

He worked at a factory. A factory that made….well…what it was supposed to make. He never really thought about it.

He lived his life. He made his money. Money to live his life. That was all that mattered at the time. That was all…

He never bothered anyone. And they left him alone as well. They lived their lives. He lived his.

Today was not going to be different from the many days before it. It would be another day…of life.

Some might speak of destiny. Not him. He didn't like that. There was no destiny. He controlled he own life and how and where it went. And yet…..he felt like he had no purpose. Like his life was meaningless.
If he died today, another man would replace him at work. Birds would still chirp. The earth would still go around. If he died today……it would not matter. No one would regret his death. No one would remember or miss him. So how was his life any different from that of anyone else's? How was he still himself? How did he retain his identity? Why was he still himself? How was he…… "he"? He thought of this often. Very often. It was like a splinter in his mind. Like an itch….And he scratched it.What did tomorrow hold? Was it of any consequence? He would still be "he", and he would still not know why…Thus life dragged on. It dragged him along with it. The rope that pulled him along was not tied to him. He held it in his hand. It was his choice. He could hold on or he could let go. It was for him to choose. Just as he pleased.


If he died today, another man would replace him at work. Birds would still chirp. The earth would still go around. If he died today……it would not matter. No one would regret his death. No one would remember or miss him.

So how was his life any different from that of anyone else's? How was he still himself? How did he retain his identity? Why was he still himself?

How was he…… "he"?

He thought of this often. Very often. It was like a splinter in his mind. Like an itch….
And he scratched it.

What did tomorrow hold? Was it of any consequence? He would still be "he", and he would still not know why…

Thus life dragged on. It dragged him along with it. The rope that pulled him along was not tied to him. He held it in his hand. It was his choice. He could hold on or he could let go. It was for him to choose. Just as he pleased.
There was no destiny. He controlled his own life. It was his. He held the rope. He held the reigns. His.Happiness and love made the rope. Hate, spite, despair and envy were the wind against him and in his face. He could choose to ignore these. He could hold on to the rope tighter. It was his choice. Not destiny. But all this still did not answer his question. Why was he "he"? Why was he unique? Even if he did make up the general blur of the masses, if you looked closer, you would see him. A dot in the blur. A leaf in the tree. A pixel in the painting of life and time. But he was there…..that's what mattered…So today when he woke up. When he lived his life. He looked in the mirror and smiled to himself. He was "he". Still…..


There was no destiny. He controlled his own life. It was his. He held the rope. He held the reigns. His.

Happiness and love made the rope. Hate, spite, despair and envy were the wind against him and in his face. He could choose to ignore these. He could hold on to the rope tighter. It was his choice. Not destiny.

But all this still did not answer his question.

Why was he "he"? Why was he unique? Even if he did make up the general blur of the masses, if you looked closer, you would see him. A dot in the blur. A leaf in the tree. A pixel in the painting of life and time.

But he was there…..that's what mattered…

So today when he woke up. When he lived his life. He looked in the mirror and smiled to himself. He was "he". Still…..

He would continue to be "he". Till he let go the rope, or till it let him go. But for now, the splinter was firmly lodged. The itch still itched. And he scratched it….