I’ve always envisioned life as some sort of game. The winners as is the case in any game are the guys that come out on top and make no attempt to show that they’ve gotten there. These are the guys with the flashy cars and houses with seventy seven rooms.
There are also those that come second. Those that believe that though they do not have the gold medal, silver still counts for something. They have a certain level of contentment and they do not really care for worldly things. For the most part, this lot hides itself behind the veil of religion. The irony here is that they are despised by both the ultimate winners and losers of the game called life.
You see, the losers loathe them because they have managed to achieve what they have tried, for a while, to achieve. They hate them even more because they seem non-plussed by their success. They seem to be saying, “It’s no big deal”.
And that’s where the ultimate victors take their cue to resent them. They know it IS a big deal, that the stuff they have accumulated does count for something. So it is pretty annoying to have someone come and say wealth and riches are “no big deal”. It’s pretty insulting when you think about it.
There’s the lot that wins bronze…and then the lot that doesn’t get zilch. No wooden medal, nothing. If you’re lucky, you may get a couple of words of encouragement and the hope that things play out a little different next time.
Depending on which aspect of life, or level in the game of life you’re at, second chances are something of a rarity. They rarely come by and even when they do, you are filled with the gnawing realisation that the first try was what truly mattered. Seconds count for squat!
The thing about the game of life is that there are stages. I think of them being divided into; Academia, Work and Relationships.
I know, as you look at them it makes sense. You don’t want to admit it, but deep down, you know I’m right. If you’d aced these things the first time round, your life would have turned out a little different from what it is right now. You’ve probably tucked yourself into “silver” territory and decided that, “It’s not that big a deal”.
I haven’t figured out where I am, where I lie, but there are things I set out to do that are still pending.
Procrastination is a bitch.
One of those things is to write a story. My story.
This will have to do.
I’ve been eyeing the cigarette on the table beside my computer’s mouse and contemplating. Convincing myself that it will help with the flow of ideas and such.
Next to it, is a stack of Christmas cards. The number of people that were on my Christmas card list diminished ages ago, but every so often I find myself writing them cards. They sit neatly in a little growing stack at the corner of my table.
I ought to distribute them, show that I still care, but life has robbed me of my will to give a shit. In its place is pride.
In what I like to think is an inspired move, next to my PC is a pistol. Where I got it doesn’t really matter, what matters is that it works. I know this because of the accident. More on that later.
Why do I have a gun on the table? I’d like to say it’s for security, but I don’t think that would be accurate. Then again, maybe it would.
Maybe I’m trying to protect the world from myself.
I’m going to play a little game, see, where I will place a bullet in a chamber then I will place the barrel of the gun to my temple, and pull the trigger. Each time I survive, I’ll write more. When the bullet is finally in the right chamber, I’ll probably pull the trigger and end it.
The story of my life.
Don’t give me credit for this ingenious move; I think it was a game played by the Russians not too long ago.
The only difference is that they weren’t writing stories.
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