A Simple Life So Conflicted

He was walking through the streets, admiring the simplicity of the world around him when he came across a scene so treacherous. Nothing could truly phase the man except unnecessary destruction of innocence.

And yet here he was, walking, minding his own business, when he came across the incident. Fire was burning an exquisite pathway through nature, so delicately placed, burning it to its own roots.

Alas, there was nothing the man could do except continue on his way, the sight of destruction in nature still fresh, as the flesh of the once-living, now charcoaled plants.

Once beautiful decadent flowers, soft, pale, and fragile, shriveled under the heat; a sight he knew would stay etched in his mind for more than a moment of his life.

But he continued on, past the destruction of nature onto the bustling city-streets, to unknowingly experience the destruction of man.

Into the bar he walked, fearful of the destruction of his own life, he took a beer to wash away the unnecessarily heavy thoughts. Not a moment later, the man felt happy, as if the weight of the world and unanswered questions dwelling in his mind had been revoked.

But he knew it was a mistake. He was not an ignoramus. A drink, he knew, would make the world’s issues rise from his mortal body, but only temporarily, just as all good things must eventually come to an end.

He knew that soon he must face the cold, bitter outside world and break free of his alcohol captivation only to experience again the harsh, true, simple yet conflicted life.

Beyond the door and beyond the hustling-yelling men were seated, those not as wise as him, would crash and burn at their soonest taste of the freedom from their minds, in the same burning fashion the plants outside had given their lives.

Life, as it is defined, has a questionably challenging meaning, for so many are alive but few can exist long enough to exclaim that they have indeed lived through life.

However, that is besides the point.

The man, who bore witness to the destruction of nature, was now facing the destruction of his own kind. Men of all ages and all sizes, all temporarily blinded from human expectations, to live a moment, or an hour, of unloathed fun.

He witnessed as the men wobbled out, one at a time, another coming in as another one exited. He must have sat there until closing time to witness the men who practically lived there, already with their life in the trenches of harsh reality but as a pseudo paradise with the help of liquor.

Man just wants to be known. And these poor fragments of men were indeed broken, something he did not want to feel.

So there he was, a man trying to escape the inevitable destruction of the world, whilst sensing destruction around him in a somewhat lesser form, and indeed destruction of himself creeping closer and closer, as he gulped another drink to wash away the questions he didn’t want answered.

A.R. Teller

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