Since the moment I was born I was given the awareness that I do not exist. The term “cogito ergo sum” is bullshit. I think, but for some reason, I just am not. I’ve lived my non-existent life in a little cage for him to poke and prod me so I’ll do what he wants me to do.
Living this way is not normal. I’ve longed to live, to love, to be free like others. I know that will never happen though. I’ve been given sentience, but no way to express myself, but through thought, and those thoughts are not even my own. My life has not been that long, but to me, it feels like an eternity. I know when he gets bored of me and decides to finally leave me alone, I’ll be at peace, but my life will end. So many thoughts and ideas are filling my head.
I want to live on a house on the beach, where you can just watch the waves slowly slide onto the shore. Where the birds fly in circles around the coast, the children swim, and some even pick up a good book to read. I want to find a woman I can call my wife. She doesn’t have to be beautiful, she just has to be there for me. I want to have kids of my own. We would have two boys and a girl. Their names would be Richard, Jason, and Rose. I want to teach my kids how to be good people, teach them everything that I know. Teach them how to get along and live with others in harmony. Though the fact remains that I still do not exist. It’s a double-edged sword, I guess. Having sentience, but at the cost of your own freedom. The world around me grows brighter the longer I exist. More things begin to form around me. That son of a bitch who gave me life must be getting a real kick out of watching me suffer. Creating such a vast landscape with just his thoughts. All I can do with my thoughts is just imagine what he wants me to imagine.
The cage door is open. I walk out to see the most fantastic sight I have ever laid my eyes upon. It’s a beach. Seagulls are circling the jetty, and I can even see an ice cream truck parked on the shore. There’s many houses along the coast line, and I can see a woman and three children going over for ice cream.
“Daddy, come get ice cream with us!” one of the children cries.
“C’mon dad, they have your favorite flavor!” another one says.
I walk over and see the vast array of selections on the truck. Spiderman popsicles, ice cream cones, and even soft serve. “It’s on the house, mister,” The old man in uniform says to me. I grab the ice cream and stare at it as it begins to melt. The children and the woman all look at me in confusion. “Aren’t you going to eat your ice cream, honey?” the woman says. I can’t hold back the tears as I drop the cone and hug them all. “What’s wrong?” the oldest of the children asks. “Nothing, son… I’m just so happy,” I respond in a hoarse voice. After all, that is the first time that I have spoken before.
As I hold them, I wish that this moment would last forever. Maybe he was merciful after all. I look up in to the sky to see that the seagulls are now gone. The children have all left the beach and the sun is beginning to set. My family is now gone too. That goddamn son of a bitch. He gave me this life just so he could take it away! He gave me a life. He gave me hope. He even fulfilled the desires that he himself instilled in me, only for him to take it away in a heartbeat. The only thing that remains is the endless ocean and now an endless beach. The sun has finally set and I sit down again, knowing that my life is only moments away from ending. I guess that those few moments were fulfilling enough for my life to be worth it. I knew it would end from the start, but it felt so fast. I just wish… that I could have held them for a little longer.
The man sat at his computer thinking about what to write next. He couldn’t end the story this way could he? The story itself wasn’t necessarily bad, just a bit unfulfilling and depressing. He could just rewrite the ending, but he thought that it would take too much work. He wasn’t planning on writing today anyways, but at least he got some down. It was a nice exercise and good practice for his future work. As he got up, he couldn’t help but wonder.
Was his character ever truly alive? Somewhere in the vast expanses of space and time, did some creature gain thought through his work? No, that couldn’t be possible… could it? Could something gain an identity through someone’s writing? But as soon as he thought that himself the thought finally came to him. A thought that felt like something that he came up with on his own, but he knew that it was not himself who was thinking this. The realization came to him that he himself did not exist.
Written by The Damn Batman
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