SENSELESS

It was a thundering night occupied by a dominant rainstorm. The ether was unusually darker than typical evenings of the daily cycle for the glows from the streetlights and the artificial suns of the indoor habitats from human creation were invaded by herds and herds of pouring raindrops from the sky. Those herds of liquified individuals were sent down from heaven to participate in a torrential race in which those existences would compete for their ongoing survival to search for any circulating forms of fluid other than hard soil in the effort of maintaining and forming a new being. It was an intense manner of nature, so does the meaning of human founding. It was exceedingly difficult to imagine a virtuous event that could occur under this cursed endure. Yet, an innocent baby lad was being born. Through the painful cries of the beloved mother and the internal chaotic scream of the worried father, the newborn was safely brought into its new life. “It’s a handsome tot!” the doctor proudly designated. The pride of whom succeeded in delivering a sacred soul to its novel and profound flesh. Following the curtain of burden was the joyful welcoming from his parents, his new guardians in this life. A warming crib made from the father’s passion arms. An emotional blanket fabricated from the mother’s cherished eyes. Those were the valuable deposit for a promising future of a child. That was a dramatic voyage for a blessed soul to enter his auspicious life. I, however, was not blessed with the same path of being received. I was desolated right at the beginning. Taking one step backward, my soul was meant to descend into a destitute family where there was the presence of the most cold-blooded parents on the planet. At least, it was the most of my retained imagination that could bring up of them. Otherwise, why would I end up in the unpainted portrait of an orphan, who was somehow managed to still be able to swim in the hopeless sea of life, without the taste of those delectable family meals to fuel up the purpose of living, without the feel of those flaming thoughts of care to keep myself as far away from the gate of hell. Greetings! I am Nicholas Breen. I was labeled by whoever found me lying naked under the representative of an infant next to a garbage dump in the middle of the raging snow in Minnesota. Looking back, I was very unfortunate to be bypassed by the wandering vengeful existence of the other dimension, beings that were exceeded with their brutality to be accepted in the abyss. Since then, my life had been a complete misery. Unlike every other mortal roaming the earth, I was not striving to live to see my grandchildren grow up with hidden tears of pride nor to dedicate my wit and will to this merciless society of people. The only rationale to illuminate the fact that I remained thrusting my breath and circulating the streams of those suppose of rejected bloodlines in my body was to count every single of the burnt-out stars on the blackness of the universe until the day my name was manipulated with a checkmark in the book of the dead preserved by the one and only, the great Grim Reaper. That was my life. The life of a forgotten mistake from God’s creation. To be honest, my entire desolate swamp of night was not always thickened with dark mist. There were as well physical apparitions seeking to offer me guidance with their blindness on my road of thoughtful despair. They were the “matrons” who had been assigned to grant me glimpses of similarity to other toddlers out there, ones that were fortunate to have intimate love in their path; they were the “housefathers” who were specified with a mission of taming the belligerence that I inherited from the dearth of darling, as being the child from the third world; they were the excluded heritages who willing to accept each other, the children from the land of forbidden desire, the victims from the infinite abandon, just like myself. All of which merged to the harmony of a collapsing farewell melody at the orphanage. Overall, people at that institution were genuinely pleasant. They tried and tried to weave this lingering string of expectation by using optimism as the only condiment so that in the latter, to tie each knot tightly in the materialization of an enormous bridge of promise. The bridge of which served the intention of delivering my imagination, along with the victimized individuals of the newborn, to a realistic future in the forming, where faith would offer a second generosity. Those precious calls of salvation, those priceless horizons from the tormented themselves whose corpses were made as products to entertain the Titans glaring from above. Though, I was too low in the depth of the inferno trench to extend my vivid sight toward their hands of liberation. In my reality, their bits of help became the problematic obstacles on my undestined journey. Those people were too expectant in their path. They paid too much of their yearning to embrace the not yet guarantee fulfilling futures in the end. Glancing through these passionate personalities, I perceived myself as the only raindrop in this unusual shower of nature that was submissive on its instinctive path of going downward and sipping through the entry of dry soil to meld with the dark matters below. From that, I felt incredibly special, I felt unique in a horrific manner that I need to be disgraced and eradicated from their life. Hence, I refused to be enlightened by their words and thoughts. A resembling pattern, I left independently at the age of 18 to hunt for my vivid expedition in the imminent. Unlike the others, I left to look for what remains rather than the world of possibilities awaiting. As the brightness of day, when I turned myself into a lone ranger, struggle gained a loyal companion. It had become so severely difficult for me to catch up with the word sustainability in this extreme nature of the outcasted. At this point, it may seem that I had made a mistake, but somehow, I felt appreciated because I deserved the horrors in the front placement. Among all the illustrated predators that were hunting for my vulnerable mind, hunger was the most aggressive and fatal. I could not possibly do anything to fight back for it was the key to release me from this world. All I could attempt to do was peeking through the transparent shields of those fancy restaurants to absorb the steaming images on the other side as matters to ease out the interior pains demanded from the vicious confrontation of the predator. When the time came, I found myself lying in a familiar scenario, under a recognizable weather condition. Only at this moment, the garbage dump would be the witness to an ending life and the raging snow would pay tribute by burring my ruins. I slowly alleviated my breath as the predator stopped attacking my internal body parts; silence I was hearing, darkness I was feeling. However, they were just visitors. Suddenly, a sight of light sparkled to life. I woke up in a place full of glory. It was no heaven. It was no deceived hell. It was the hospital. Then, silence was defeated by the mechanical beating sounds, darkness was thrashed by the light of civilization. Moreover, my expected deliverance was ceased by a drip of fluid injection. I could not have a decent life neither a pleasant demise. I bursted into motion with the strength which was generated from my displeasure. I detached the drip as well as all the equipment affixed on my body to keep me thriving. No appearances nearby could have stopped me, no nurses or doctors could have retained my aggression. Except for a stranger. “Calm down kid! You are just recovering…You will get yourself KILLED,” the stranger miraculously deactivated me using his impassioned tone of voice and a comfortable yet resounding gaze. Right at the first encounter, I sensed a connection with that middle-aged man. He was not a doctor or a nurse or any recognized medical employees in the facility. Still, I trusted that man more than anyone else surrounding, and probably in this expectancy. “Can we have some private moments please?” he implied to the outsiders in the area. He stood next to my patient bed but kept a short distance. “Are you doing alright, son?” he cared. I replied with stationary and reticence. A disturbing hush conquered the territory. Up until I moved my right arm to cover a swift headache on my forehead and as well exposed an indicator on my hand to him that the stillness was interrupted. It was my birthmark that caught his intention. One small genetic cut on the back of my right-hand palm. Perhaps, it was a seal forced by the immortals to remind them about their unfinished bet on this transient land of earth or it was simply an eternal curse. Either way, it was not a favor in the meaning of life. The man scouted for a seat nearby. His look shredded out of the prior skin of pitiful to the new outfit of compassion. “A wolf without its pack is not considered a dead wolf, but one without its will to dominate the nature is nothing more than a walking fossil,” his every word of peculiar gradually lifted up my temper. “Who are you? What am I doing here? Why are you saying these nonsense to me?” I countered with a flood of queries. “I was once a stranded wolf…injured…rejected…casted out of society. Believe it or not, I spent the remaining days of my life just to find a way to end it,” he said. We made eye contact and held it. “I tried to jump out of a building, did not work cause no buildings would allow a homeless rat to enter. I tried to stab myself using a stolen knife, it did not go as plan. I did stab myself, but only the handle, the blade fell right off before it could penetrate my skin,” he continued. We shared a chuckle that would make no sense to other people. “Finally, I decided to starve myself to death, but got help from a kind man. After failures and failures, I realized it would be idiotic to find ways to destroy a sacred and complicated texture such as our human body. From then on, I decided to fight back anything that dares to pose a challenge upon me. That decision did not only help me but also helped a deserted soul,” he recalled. The man stared deep into my eyes to dig up the past. “I just hope that kid would possess better thoughts than me at the start of his journey,” he wished. “Are you…?” I filled in the gap of voices. “You should consider yourself very lucky to be alive, kid!” he interrupted my sentence. “Many people wanted only to live for a few seconds more in this reality, but all they could do is following the God of Death to the eternal,” he educated me. “Life is a gamble, son! It is not always dreadful or wonderful. You just have to make the best out of it. Create your own life rather than demolish it.” At this point, I was speechless from the foolishness I had been performing and moreover, a huge question of coincidence. “It is late now. I’ll see you tomorrow when you get better,” he announced. The founding father of mine turned and left while I was still soaked in wonderings and regrets. “Stay here! Get well to plan a new beginning,” he concluded before his shadow of figure blended into the darkness. I could not sleep through the night not because of exhaustion, but for I was full of excitement and desire. The first time ever that I got a chance to place my trust in faith. The first time ever I got an opportunity to reunite with my savior of all. Time went by as fast as a flood swept through a village, he never came back. I wished he had abandoned me, but the truth was unbearable. An unexpected accident took away his valuable life. It was my tormented curse that brought him back to dust. I blamed everything on my falling mind, and those blames pulled me back to the dark. No one could stop me then. I successfully using my blood to put a dot to end my unfinished life essay. I was relieved. Through the blackness, I heard crying from a newborn. The cry led me to my birthplace of origin. The same old horrible garbage dump under the snow. However, there was no one, no child, nothing. Conceivably, the vengeful spirits did bring my infant with them at first sight and my life was just all a recreation as I never had a chance to grow with my defenseless structure.