Indirect Existence: Villainous Ink

“Look at me, writer. I’m changing the script”

He never felt entirely at peace with the world he arrived in. Having not asked for the life he was provided his happiness was best described as frozen in a perpetual state of “yet to be defined”. Determined you might say – one that sees initial sparks of temporary joy, be they feelings or experiences where time was spent surrounded by loved ones. As well as the experiences that brought him serenity through the means of participating in things where he was given control, it was the small pleasures of life which had the best to offer.

Mid-day coffee on a park wooden bench, smiles from strangers during a stroll through the city, unexpected phone calls during the late hours of the night. It’s the small things, however temporary they may be. But these are just temporary and as of such, they were not secure nor were they within his control. Writing however, that’s of an entirely different story, no pun intended. It was within the words of his own fantasies and thoughts, as well as his feelings towards prior experiences and people which gave him full control.

Infinite verses of fiction were at his disposal, dictating whatever he sought fit for the purposes of pleasure, as well to that of entertainment for an audience. And regardless of whatever thoughts or feelings an audience had towards his words, they never had control nor would they ever play a role in the shaping of that which is yet to come. By no means an ego complex, I assure you – As capes are for dreamers and bedwetters, ego only does well to serve those of an insecure nature. Not a believer of destiny nor fate, as such archaic beliefs are best left to children’s folk lore.

Due to such reasons he wasn’t entirely certain that life held purpose – for anyone or anything. We simply use what we have and do our best to be happy. Ego complex? No. More like a God complex. Appointed a God to the ruling of his scriptures, he sought it best that the life he was given reflected that to the words on the page…literally writing his existence. Unknowingly, this granted him a substantial amount of power amongst those he associated with. As the words of an elitist could only serve to the illusions of grandeur, those he once called friends had come to be seen as lesser men.

In an attempt to imitate the man of his words- which in itself, was initially based upon himself – he had only succeeded in manifesting aspects of greed and desire, both of which contributed to his happiness. However dangerous it may have been for others, he wasn’t concerned with the negative side-effects residing of his actions. Act how you wish to become and you’ll become how you act – he once wrote. And now he had become. What he had become he wasn’t entirely certain of, but one thing was for sure, evil was prevalent. And to some extent he knew this.

Afraid of embracing it entirely he masked his vulgar nature in the company of the ones he loved. He had no shame in being a monster, a liar – for the words he had written were the words of a man willing to do anything for those he loved. A necessary evil who cared for nothing more than the simple pleasures of life. Indulging in all it had to offer as the best experiences were all short lived. How ironic it was, if not laughable. Not a believer in destiny nor fate yet he was already on the verge of scripting his own purpose.
Purpose he would discover through her…

 

Original Copyright © 2017 by KalifornicationX.

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