deux.

Trying to gather my thoughts, I sit here and hope to gain some direction. Scotch is the driver as usual; I am merely a passenger tagging along. I always try not to ask any questions fearing it’ll steer me in the wrong direction and ruin the trip, though it never happens. After a few minutes into the ride, promising myself to keep silent, I break my vow and ask my driver a question.

‘Life,’ I ask sitting back with Miles Davis playing in the background, ‘what’s the point of its repetitiveness?’ The driver says nothing. He never does. Instead, depression smacks me in the face as I feel I already know what he’s going to say.

‘Fuck,’ I reply in frustration, ‘continue driving.’

I begin to feel worse as suddenly I see people from my past pull up beside me. In protest, I demand the driver to go faster.

‘Faster, driver!’ I yell scornfully. He begins to pick up speed.

By this time it’s usually too late as now I’m being chased by exes, school bullies and family members who I swore I would never encounter again. The tension begins to rise.

‘Faster!’

‘You dumping me was the best thing that happened to me,’ someone yells. ‘I’m much happier now than I ever was with you.’

‘I’m happy for you.’ I reply. Of course, I don’t mean any of it. I wish they were as miserable as I am right now.

‘What are you doing with your life?’ another asks.

‘I don’t love you anymore. What we had was three years ago. Get over it!’ another replies loudly. Out of all the people chasing me, this is person I wish to get rid of most. I haven't heard her voice in years.

‘I said faster, driver! Faster!’

As we go faster, some do leave meanwhile others pick up speed. Sooner or later, I'm being followed by only a handful of people. They’re always the same ones left behind.

‘Get over it. For all you know, I could be in someone else’s arms right now. Maybe I’m even fucking them right now. What if I am?’ the same voice from my past comments. I can vividly see her looking at me in a condescending manner.

‘Just leave, go away.’ I reply rudely.

‘What are you going to do if things don’t go your way?’ someone else replies. ‘Then what? You’ll be just another nobody, if not worse!’

‘Faster!’

‘You’re alone and miserable. Do you know people your age are already settled down and are happy?’ another interrupts. This one irritates me.

‘No they’re not,’ I shoot back. ‘They’re not happy.’

‘They’re happier than you though!’ They reply back.

Suddenly all of them are fighting, each trying to out do the other by screaming for my attention. Some try to dig deep into my past in attempts to get my attention through mentioning my past failures; others use a philosophical approach.

‘Think about it: there’s no meaning to life. Suicide is the most logical solution. Camus said that, you know.’ Continues one voice.

‘Go on.’ I demand.

‘See, life is absurd. And though you’re feeling down because of the nature of life, be grateful: you’re only seeing life how it really is. Everyone else out there is blind – ignorant. Ignorance is bliss, you know.’

‘I know.’

I soon become engulfed with voices speaking simultaneously as I’m unable to answer their questions either out of refusal or fear of the emotional repercussions of my answers. At this point I’m going so fast the driver is no longer listening to my commands to slow down. Getting caught in emotions, dizziness and fatigue, I pass out.

I awake in complete depression and anger the next day. My head feels as if it had fell victim to a car crash and remembered every single thing that happened before the accident. Confused by the numerous cuts and bruises I find upon myself, I peel myself out of bed into the shower.

I promise never to do it again. But as always, I always come crawling back thinking I’ll finally be able to answer all questions asked and things will be different the next time around.

un.

I am an angry man. Not because I believe the world owes me something, for the world makes no promises, but the fact its experiences have left me with a bitter aftertaste. Though I can easily blame individuals or gods for my misfortunes, I choose not to. That would simply be giving them more credit than they deserve.

So save me your pity. My life is a result of my own doing and not of any human or godly influences. I, and I alone, have steered my life into such a path based upon my own actions and choices.

And though you may think I’m writing this for your acceptance, I’m really writing this for the sake of my own record keeping. I could care less if you discover grammatical mistakes or inconsistencies within my writing since this isn’t being done for your applause and acceptance.

'Then what part do we play these posts?' you may ask.

'An audience' I rejoin, 'simply an audience.'