[End of Story, 652 words, Genre: Realistic Fiction]
* Image courtesy of Dirk de Bruyn
It was the junior baseball league. All of the parents of the children had organized a competition. The competition would pit all of the children against one another in an effort to win sporting equipment for the game that they all played. The parents were all staking their lives on the success of their young children. Without their success in their individual lives, the parents would never be able to see the day of their own retirement. They would all be stuck on a measly pension for the rest of their lives. Their parents would sit inside their own homes, in front of a television, dwelling on their problems: the successes and failures of their lives and they would be forever stuck in some sort of non-transitional suppository for the useless. Life had begun with the children riding on the back of their parents, however, everything had changed when they grew of an age where they could work. As soon as they could work they were forced to work for pennies… Each pay cheque would be enough for food, rent, bills and nothing more.
Back to the game that occurred in their childhood. Back to that time of nostalgic memories before it can be told how it all played out. The game was a simple one. Every one of the children would run to a finish line, with a twist, first they would have to spin around in circles for a series of twenty revolutions before they would be able to begin the race. Who had invented the rules? Some sick parent that wanted to see other children vomit as their heads became dizzy with a feeling of unease. Of course they couldn’t be blamed for it… After all, it was the children’s choice. They either chose to compete in the event or not compete. The entire foundation of civilization was built on the basis of competition and through some basic instinct of survival, everyone would compete. It was sick how modern psychology and science had been turned into nothing more than the basis of a new religion. And that new religion was built on the basis, the basis that all successful religions are built on, the manipulation of the masses. Now you’ll get no argument in the end that it works… But quite frankly, I’d rather listen to make-believe stories of the superhuman zombie named Jesus… At least it can be entertaining. Those who complain that religion is a tool for organizing and manipulating the masses… Look no further than psychiatry and psychology and you will find the truth of manipulation. Convincing one another that we are all sick and abnormal… Not worthy of love. Fuck ‘em… Fuck ‘em all. I’d rather listen to bullshit that’s plainly bullshit than somebody else’s brand of bullshit branded as the work of a genius rather than some sick fuck!
Anyway, back to the game. All of the children were running around in circles and making themselves dizzy and then the race began. The race of life. You’re always confused at the start because you have no basis of understanding of the world. But after you get dizzy you still have to continue running to the finish line. So all of the kids were lined up and they began to run. Some of them falling over themselves. One of the kids threw up… One of the kids actually threw up. But he couldn’t give up just then. The parents would not intervene. The race had to be completed.
The kids were running towards the finish line. Not one of them in a straight line. They were all over the place and the parents stood there laughing at their spawn. They thought that they were so cute and funny. And then one of them crossed the finish line. They would be branded as the winner and the rest would be branded as losers. End of story.