Time Stops

Working title. This in fact will become part of a bigger story, but I'm writing it in pieces. This was the first.

Time stops. I thought that once. Honest to goodness I thought that once. I thought it would wait for me; that it would let me catch up. Christ, I'm stupid.
Time is an alien force, wholly unperceivable by man, but still he attaches this importance to it. It is a terrible thing, time. It rushes things that never should have been. It makes a worrier of us all, be it ten minutes late to a dentist appointment or seven months late for the only thing you ever really wanted. Time kills. It is pain so foreign yet familiarly warm. It is too little too late; too much too soon.
The one thing, I think, that is most important to people everywhere is the idea of time travel, the ability that lets you think things over for as much time as you need, then go back to the situation armed to the teeth. That’s the catch. You go back to that situation fully conscious of how things will pan out. Life could be, God forbid, worth living with a little bit of manipulation thrown into the picture.
The problem with time travel, one that is so glaringly blatant it’s blinding, is what if more than one person in that situation has the power? Things would get very messy, very fast. I’m talking continuity problems in the textbook of history. Plot holes. The makings of a bad movie. This list goes on.
I’m not writing this for myself. No. Not at all. This is a chronicle of human fallacy, for after all, that is all I am. Trial and error. A test run. We are all the same, every single one of us. We breathe the same air, eat the same food, read the same news, and indulge in the same pleasures. Here is nostalgia. Here is sentimentality. Kill them before they do you. Kill them and don’t ever look back. Trust me, you’ll be a happier person, for what it’s worth anyway.
This string of clearly disjointed thoughts seem so unreasonable to me, but that doesn’t matter. I don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. It is better this way, that my mind is not my own. The more I think about it, the more I realize that no one’s mind is their own. There are far too many outside influences and sources for them all to be of your own doing. You are told from birth to act a certain way, to be a good person, to think a certain way, to not speak while you’re eating, to breathe a certain way. How is that fair?
This entry is not dated for a reason. In the process of writing this, I have realized that time cannot stop for me because it is not real. Inertia. Newton’s first law. Since time never moved, it will never stop. Never stop. Never stop what? Bothering us? Killing us? There’s that saying that time marches on. Well, time can’t march on. It has no legs. And there’s that one about how time heals all wounds. So what, now time’s a field medic and can patch you up when you get shot? It doesn’t work that way. You never hear on the news “miraculous cancer surgery performed by time”. See?
I bumped into someone on the street today, or rather, he bumped into me. Even though he was clearly at fault, somehow it was mine, all because he was wearing a suit and that little thing on his wrist said he was late. His briefcase opened, obviously to make matters worse, and papers and pens and all other odds and ends went flying everywhere. Like it was my fault.
This is a reminder for you, whoever ends up reading this. Whatever sanity I had left clearly is no longer there. That’ll probably come up when you go around spouting my beliefs like they were you own. Go ahead, I don’t own them. I can’t own an idea. Don’t trust anyone. Ever. Don’t go out of your way for anyone ever, because chances are they won’t return the favor. Call me paranoid, or a cynic, or whatever you want, because whatever it is, I am. There is truth somewhere in here. You can’t deny that. Getting all the lies and the half-truths and figuring everything else out for yourself. This is life in a nutshell. No guiding hand. Nothing. Just you, your brain, and the fragile realization that you really are alone, regardless of who you have in your life. No one can really understand what you may be going through, or help you, or anything.
The sooner you realize that none of what I’m saying is true, and that none of life is true, or makes sense, or however you want to say it, the better. It is not fair. It is not clean, or virtuous. It is hard-boiled and indignant. It will not be okay and it doesn’t matter how much you try, the gods are against you from the starting line to the finish line and forever thereafter. It is not true because it cannot be proven right or wrong. It just is.
I’ve always thought of cats to be the truest companion you could ever have, because they don’t have the ability to sugarcoat things. They are in it for themselves and they state that from the start. The second you let them into your life, the second they rule over you. They tell you when they’re hungry and bother you incessantly until you get up and feed them. The more they know you, the better they can manipulate you. It’s a nasty thing to get into, but when things go awry, the little furry bastards know it. I’m led to believe they know you better than you know yourself. The sad thing is I’m probably right.
What it comes down to is the strength of your will, how willingly you go, and coming to terms with the fact that you are completely powerless. As a single entity, you are entirely powerless in shaping your life. Options were quite clear from the start, like a blanket at a garage sale, filled with antiquities that once were and other sorts of knick-knacks. Everything is there. Some things are bad, worthless, and might even get you into some sort of trouble somewhere along the line. Some things you’ll end up treasuring for the rest of your life. It’s separating the two. Then you get into the details, like that one thing you know you should’ve bought but ended up not, then when you finally decide it’s time to go buy it, it’s been gone for a long time. It’ll haunt you for more time than you want. Trust me. Do yourself a favor and at least consider all of this. At the very least, take this with you: listen to the voice of reason. Morals have their time and their place. If you think what you’re doing is honestly good, go with it. Don’t let the mold of conformity society tends to squeeze us in bind you. We weren’t meant to live like that.
Reasons, excuses; lies. All three are exactly the same in nature. The difference lies in the validity and truth that backs them. Reason is one hundred percent true; always. Excuses are seldom true, don’t go by them. Lies are always false, way to state the obvious. The truth is either there, or it isn’t. Half-truths tend to just be mostly false anyway.
I once had this idea to sit down and write this story where this boy realized all these things about the world at such an early age and it turned him into a cold, miserable bastard. The fact of the matter is that inside everyone lies that cold, miserable bastard, and he or she is not afraid to explode to the scene. Overexposure to the absolute horror that is this world. Yes, humans are superior to all other life forms for their opposable thumbs and their high level of intellect and their extraordinarily complex thought processes. Well here’s the thing. Because of that high level of intellect that is seemingly absent from the general population and the incredible complexity of eat and sleep, we are that much more susceptible to fear and anguish. The little things bother us. You don’t see a monkey weeping for that squirrel he just mauled with his three thousand pound car.
I bet this seems like one giant rant about all the little things and the big things and those things in between in their own categories that bother the hell out of me, and you’re right. It is. Cut the bullshit and just get to the moral of the story. The moral of this story is that all other morals stories spout are false. I don’t have any hard facts or evidence, but like that guy who was at the wrong place at the wrong time, and just happened to have his fingerprints all over the gun that killed the person he never knew, you just have to believe me. All those things taught can’t all be right.
After everything I’ve been through in my years, none of this really even matters. I fail to see how hard it is to grasp that concept, but so be it. Read: miserable bastard. One thing has stuck with me through all this time. I still can’t believe I thought that time would stop. Could stop. Hell, I don’t even know anymore. We’ve reached the end of the beginning, which inevitably means we’re pretty damn close to the beginning of the end. And that brings a smile to my face.
This is want and this is need. The two are different, despite the fact that the two are used interchangeably now, and when there is a dire need for something, it usually falls on deaf ears.
What it boils down to, I guess, is that I am not happy in this world. I see happy people everywhere I look. People who are content with what they have. People who don’t mind waking up in the morning. Ignorance is bliss for a reason. What you don’t know can’t hurt you, so keep it out. Ignore it. Be an ignorant son of a bitch and enjoy every minute of it. Because it only goes down hill from there.
The worst thing in the world, I think, is when people don’t say things when they should. They don’t act when they should. Instead they ignore it. Take advantage of everything you can. Because chances are that opportunity will never come knocking at your door again. So when it knocks the first time, do me a favor and kick down the door. Sweep the moment off its feet and carry it in your arms. Embrace it. Never let it go. You’ll be happy you did. And if you choose not to, well, I told you so.
Make yourself heard. If you’ve got something to say, say it. You’ll feel a lot better about yourself in the end, even if you do burn a few bridges. Fight fire with fire. Burn some more. Make it count. Violence is a primal instinct. It’s like a cornered animal. They fight dirty. They fight with only one thing in mind: survival. If you say something to someone and they break your face, you’ve won. You cornered them and the only thing they could muster up in that peanut brain was a swift kick to the groin. At the very least you have the satisfaction of wielding the wits over the sword.