Just A Story
A while ago I said that I was writing a story. It was about genetics, computers, technology, and people yelling at each other. Hard to read, harder to understand, and not very compelling. Two chapters in I lost interest and quit. I think if I'm ever going to write a story I'll have to just sit down and do the whole thing. That way I'll be in the same enthusiastic writing mood. And I won't wake up the next morning dreading how to finish the story.
But yeah. This isn't that story. I'm not even sure what it is. Or if its any easier to understand. Here goes...
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I don't like people. Well, no, not you. Not at all. Just people...in general. No, I'm not backpedaling. Everyone has potential. Even you.
But yeah. Maybe its more of an aversion. A slight distaste for my own kind. A disdain for everyone not me.
Let me explain.
A bench. In a park. A park bench. Children are playing on a playground nearby, screaming like they're having fun. The grass is green, the breeze is cool, the day is young, and you have nothing better to do. Nothing, because this is where your story starts.
You're sitting on the bench. Maybe reading a paper. Maybe a book. Something deep, intellectual, or maybe not. But somebody has read it. Somebody just happens to walk by. Somebody friendly, cheerful, maybe like you. They notice the book. They decide to introduce themselves for whatever reason.
They reach out to you. They make a connection. Their life is altered by your presence, your happenstance. Maybe you two have a nice conversation. Maybe you agree to meet again. Maybe you become friends, fall in love, and your park bench becomes the beginning of your happy story.
Don't laugh. They use it in stories all the time. Bus stations. Train stations. Airports. A character becomes a plot device, initiating the dialogue that defines the characters in question. Just watch.
No? Something else then. Another story.
A classroom. At your school. Yes, your school. The first class, the first seat, the first person that comes to mind. You know them all, you sit there every day and you do the same thing. You're always there early because you leave at :50 to get there at :27.
You sit down. Minutes pass. You stare at your notebook.
They sit down. Maybe a 'Hi'. 'Hello'. Multiple instances of 'How's it going?' with 'Good', 'Alright', and then nothing afterwards. Just awkward silence followed by downward glances and occasional sighs.
You both sit there. You spend an entire semester sitting next to people. You wouldn't know their names if the professor didn't call their names when returning papers. Well, that's not entirely true. The professor passes around a paper and has us sign our names for attendance. But if he always passed it one way around the classroom you would never know the person you handed the paper off to. The people on the other side.
This story has no beginning. No conflict. No climax. No conclusion or resolution. Just repetition. Your character never changes, and wonders why.
Let me explain.
In medieval times fear was the way of life. Towns protected themselves by walls and barricades, patrolled constantly by the King's men or the local militia. Inside, streets folded back onto themselves in a confusing maze of unnamed roads and paths. Houses and huts bore no markings on them to designate their contents. That way, in the event that the defenses fell and the invaders began ransacking the town they could not easily find a particular family. The town's wealthy nobility would be tucked away safely in their guarded houses. Royalty, provided the place was of importance, had their own stone keep, placed upon a hill for greatest defense.
Safety in anonymity.
Everybody stayed where they were supposed to be in times of peace or war. Never going anywhere. Never changing. It took hundreds of years of religion to teach people that they were all God's children. That they could all attend church and pray without fear of their fellow man in the pews. It took revolutions to topple the nobility and time to chip away at the power of royalty.
Look how far we've come.
Ancient tribal societies. Hunters, gatherers, families and friends subsisting and surviving off of their meager stretch of land. In fear of death, spirits, predators, and warring tribes. Meet a stranger in the forest and they are a demon. Don't tell them your name or they will be able to curse you. You will have bad luck hunting, breeding, and giving birth. Only members of your tribe know your name and they protect it like it was their own.
Safety in anonymity.
Look how far you've come.
Do you feel any safer in your classroom? These people are just like you. Students with families, religions, interests, lives free from centuries of oppression and mystic superstition.
But you're waiting at your park bench. All you have is a notebook and a pencil. The flourescent lights cool the air conditioned room, and the plastic chair digs into your back. This isn't the right story. No, no, this isn't your story. It isn't what you want it to be.
But you're still waiting. Watching yourself, your life. What you don't realize is that your park doesn't exist but in the stories you tell. Your well-read somebody does not walk by on cue, no matter how many times you watch for them.
Let me explain. As you would understand.
You have to be that somebody walking by. You have to be the person that strikes up the conversation. You must have your life changed. You must change your story, because nobody will change it for you.
This is why I dislike people. For all our wonderous things and varied accomplishments we still live in a very lonely world. Or at least most people choose to. We're so afraid of knowing anyone. You're so afraid of letting them change you. This is why I dont like you. Your story never changes.
Why do you tell yourself these stories? This is not how your world is. Your story doesn't just happen to you. On the contrary, you happen to it. So why am I in your story? How do I belong in your repititive delusion? I am the character in your ridiculous story. And I am your character in protest of your lackluster performance, hopefully teaching you how to play my part.
Otherwise you're going to just sit there.
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Maybe I'll think twice next time I sit down and write something. Sheesh.
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