Harsh Realities
As rain fell against the window of Tony’s flat, a relentless drumbeat against the grey of the seaside town – the air was heavy with an oppressive weight, a sweet scent of camomile wafting lazily to ones nostrils; an unspoken despair, a tangible presence that clung to the very room itself.
Linda sat opposite him, she perched herself on the edge of the armchair, her usual vibrant energy had dimmed within the suffocating atmosphere, she had come baring a gift; a small gesture of warmth “It’s uh…, it’s been awhile Tony” she said, her voice carefully soft, tentative “I was a little worried when you didn’t return my calls”
Tony didn’t look away from his hands, clasped tightly in his lap, fingers interlocked like some kind of cage; his eyes, usually sharp, alight with an intellectual curiosity, were now dull, shadowy pools “Worried?” he scoffed, a dry, rasping sound that escaped his moth “Why bother; what difference does it make?”
Sarah felt an urge to swallow, there was also a ripple of frustration that warred with her growing concern “Because…” she began “You matter; I care, we all do”
Lifting his gaze; he fixed her eyes onto her, there was a flicker of pity within his eyes, though; Linda felt it was more like a judgement “You really believe that?” he questioned, leaning forwards ever so slightly “You really believe that quaint little notion, that we’re all connected, that our individual struggles resonate with some grand tapestry of human existence…, eh?” he gave a slight chuckle as he leaned back again, his eyes drifting towards the window.
“It is a comfortable lie” he told her “But that is all it is Linda; a Lie, a well-intentioned fabrication designed to keep us from truly staring into the world”
Linda shifted uncomfortably “It’s not a lie; Empathy, Connection…, they are real”
“Are they now?” he returned his gaze towards her, his voice gaining a brittle edge “Or are they merely convenient constructs?” he questioned
Leaning forwards again, he narrowed his eyes; locking her within his gaze “When was the last time a genuine, unadulterated concern led to lasting change for someone truly broken; no…., no…, the world” he gave a slow shrug “The world functions on self-interest; an illusion…, if we can call it that, because even these days, that illusion is not truly there; but lets just say it is, an illusion of camaraderie, it is just a lubricant for the gears of commerce and control”
There was a pause; a shiver that ran through him that had little to do with the cold “Nothing matters Linda; not really”
He began to rant, causing Linda to feel ever more unease “We live; we strive, we accumulate, we suffer and we die; the world just spins on, it is utterly indifferent to our brief, meaningless existence, all your ‘grand achievements’, the profound sense of love, your deepest sorrows, they are all transient, data points in an uncaring world, nobody truly cares; nobody even knows what to do with someone who feels utter desperation and despair; its always the same thing; ‘Chin Up’, ‘Pull yourself together’, ‘Get a Grip’, ‘Stop Being Soft’”
There was a pause for a brief moment.
“Or, it is things such as ‘If you do this, it will really upset me, you don’t want that do you?’ because obviously, whatever I feel, or you feel is meaningless as long as the one you speak too is happy and not overburdened by your sense of desperation; ‘Call Help’ from people that don’t truly grasp your reality, ‘Reach Out’ yet no one is really there; you take the money away, who will really put in the effort”
Linda shifted awkwardly a moment, watching him, listening to him speak “Nobody truly cares beyond the superficial, beyond what you can offer, that is it; its all about what you can give people, what benefit you are to them”
Linda opened her mouth to argue; the intensity though, it silenced her just by eye contact alone – he was not asking to debate, he was declaring his truth.
“Look at everything around you” Tony gestured towards the window “Let’s take Politics as the first example; The People, we claim to want progress, justice” he shook his head “It is all just a game; a brutal game rigged by the powerful, who debate and discuss behind closed doors free to decide the fate of millions; pulling the strings of the masses like little puppets; they don’t care about your vote or mine; they care about their hidden empires, their legacies and bloodlines, they make promises of change, preach ideology, but its always about control, about enriching themselves”
His voice grew sharper, fuelled by a profound bitterness “And then they let the fanatical men, the extremes twist the narratives further; they weaponize fear, ignorance and manufacture grievances, pit us against each other; Left and Right; White against Black, Citizen against Immigrant; we’re all so busy fighting amongst ourselves, we never look up; this chaos is allowed to thrive because it keeps us distracted, keeps us pliable”
Linda’s gaze fell to her hands; she knew he delved into such critique, but never with such crushing finality, such utter lack of hope.
“And Religion” he pressed “The promise of paradise while threatening hell to keep the masses obedient ‘Turn the Other Cheek’…, ‘Love Thy Neighbour’, ‘God has a Plan’…, convenient platitude to supress rebellion, to accept your lot, no matter how miserable; Religious Leaders cloaked in sanctity, wield immense power, not to uplift, but to control; to dictate thought, to enforce dogma and ensure the continuation of authority; the promise of Liberation in the Afterlife, while binding you in chains within this life”
Leaning back; he took a deep breath, his eyes burned with a growing anger “And then Society” he let out a light chuckle “Society; it offers the best one; Society tells you, you can be anything you want to be; the best lie of boundless opportunity, but…, immediately qualifies it to specific rules within narrow parameters; Be Productive, Be a Good Customer; Work Hard and Climb the Ladder, Conform, Don’t Question, Don’t Think too Deeply, Don’t Feel too Intensely, Don’t Stray from the Well-Trodden Path; Want to be an Artist, a Philosopher…, a Free Spirit who rejects the Rat Race…, find comfortability in your own Body and Skin, Seek Happiness” he shook his head
“Good Luck; Society will Turn on you if you decide on something they don’t like, if its new; It isn’t allowed, it’s Taboo…, ‘Can’t Do that’…Society has no issue leaving you to starve, Brand you a Failure, a Deviant, someone unwell for daring to break tradition”
“He looked towards the window “There is no room for authentic expression; to be who you really want, you have to be what society tells you, you are; even as you spiral down a rabbit hole of depression and despair”
Returning his gaze back to Linda “We are all made to fit into pre-existing moulds, we have to earn to survive, to distract ourselves with the crushing weight of it all, we’re encourage to chase fleeting pleasures, to buy more, to consume more, scroll more; anything to avoid the terrifying silence where we might confront the emptiness”
Tony fell silent; her gaze drifting to the window once more as his expression became sour…, the silence returned, the rain the only sound with its incessant clattering against the window; a heavy beat – Linda, she finally looked up towards him again, she could see the profound, aching weariness.
She was uncertain what to say…, the gift had long been forgotten, her mind was still reeling from his rant; she began to grasp the enormity of his despair; a bleak, horrifying landscape – she wanted to say something, to over hope, maybe resilience, perhaps love, a small act of kindness, but, his words had stripped everything bare, laid them out as fragile, impotent against such disillusionment.
She tried tor reach for a retort, a comforting phrase, a logical counter; anything – but no words came, her throat felt tight, her tongue heavy, all she could do was simply sit there, silently, utterly uncertain how to respond to a soul that believed everything was truly a construct of an uncaring world – the void was visible, the silence stretched, thick and suffocating between them, a tangible monument to an unbridgeable chasm.
Written By: Westley H.
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