Young Writers Society

1. Irony is the Shit

Going to sleep had always been an issue with me. I just couldn't. I could never will myself to sleep. Can anyone?

Anyway. I was lying wide awake in my bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the sandman to whisk me away to the land with bright shadows. But all I heard was the clock sniping off moments, TickTock-TickTock, as the world inexorably turned towards another dreadful dawn.

And this was making me progressively more ticked off. I swear, I would've shot someone if they had entered my room right then. Nevermind that there was no gun in my room, or inside the house for that matter.

I let out a frustrated sigh, because I knew the night has been ruined. That happens when I get angry. Things get ruined. Sometimes it's someone face; my fist; someone's property; my property; and in the latest instance- the night. I am too angry now. Sleep is no longer an option.

A lot of people used to ask me why I am angry. My mother, father, sister, guidance counselor, the cop who my mom had been to prom with and had been keeping me out of juvie. I had no answer for them. None they wanted to listen to anyway. And that was the problem with people back then- they cared, so long as the problems could be understood easily and had readily accessible solutions. Otherwise, you are a sickness, a danger to yourself and the world. And they ship you off to be fixed.

I told them I didn't know, that I didn't care. That answer pissed them off. They thought I was taking the piss out of them. But it is an honest answer, the only answer I've got.

Well, that's not the complete truth,now, is it? I've been telling that lie for so long that I even began to believe it. But I can be honest with you, Screwed Stranger, can't I? Chances are we won't ever meet each other. And if we do I would just shoot you, or you would shoot me before either manages to get in a word. Such is the way things work now.

No complaints from me.

I don't know what makes me this way. That much is the truth. But I can tell you why I am this way.

Imagine a beast stalking you, every move you made throughout your life, waiting, growling in a decidedly unfriendly fashion; a beast you know is terrible as a curse and assumes mythical proportions. How would you feel?

Did you say afraid? That is how I felt, for a while. But people like me don't live in fear for long, we can't; people who have good lives with happy families, healthy bodies and good education. Fear on my kind of people in excess for any duration always backfires. We retaliate. We answer intimidation with revolt.

But the problem with me was that I didn't even know what was making me afraid. All I could sense was a silhouette of a creature that is the progeny and vector of malice and misery. What I feared was not a physical being. It took me a long while to figure it out, but the object of my dread was the psychological interpretation of an inevitable scenario.

What I feared is what I live now. What I fear is the reality of the world around. I feared the end of the world itself.

Do I sound crazy? Well, you haven't read the half of it.

You may have guessed why I chose to begin this tale of mine with a night. That's right, it's because it was that night.

You might also be wondering if there is a point to this whole thing. There isn't, Screwed Stranger. That is a thing of past. People no longer write to discover a meaning, but to lose the horrendous shit keeping them awake. It's therapy, not creativity. Which is not to say that it cannot be amusing. Reality is after all stranger than fiction. And if you have learned to see the humor in tragedies, then be prepared to be entertained. And if you haven't, then you will.

That night, I was staring out of my window, searching with soulless eyes the blind sky, when it entered the atmosphere and plunged towards the surface in a fiery trail. Every person you'll meet will tell you they saw it happen. Most of them are liars. Even those with "recorded proof".

But I saw it. It was so innocuous. Just an interesting sight in an uneventful sky. I watched it moving down, slowly. It was thousands of miles from where I had lived, so the drop itself lasted for nearly a minute. And then it hit the ground.

A reverse firework show. Down is Up. Happy Diwali. Boom.

I saw it first, a white swell emanating from the ground. It was such a serene sight, like a jellyfish swimming up in a dark ocean. It hadn't yet registered with me what had happened.

It hadn't even when the quakes came, the thunder and the rolling tsunami of debris that put me to the longest sleep of my life.

a/n: I profusely apologize for all the grammatical and spelling mistakes. I tried fixing as many as I could, but honestly I didn't look too hard for them.