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I lie on my side on a frozen bench in the park. My body is already half-asleep, or is it just numb from the cold? I am in a state of semi-consciousness, beyond the physical plane. My heavy eyes are but slits to look through. The rest of my body is instinctively huddled together in a manner that effectively conserves body heat.
The sky is dark, and I am in the shadow of a leafless tree. Behind me, a huge statue, probably a war monument, overlooks the city. I see people walking in the street, going to the stores across the park, busy shopping or running other errands. Cars speed past, splashing the mush that is molten, corrupt snow on unfortunate pedestrians when they go too fast. They’re all too busy trudging through the remnants of the winter weather to notice me in my isolation. I am unseen, just as I have always been.
I should go inside. The fact that my stomach has stopped rumbling should be worrying. My numbness in body is an ominous sign. I would certainly be able to get up and drag myself to the well-lit café, with the big windows. The people in there seem to be enjoying themselves, if the energy is any sign to go by. They’d probably let me in if I tried, let me stand in the corner by the heater.
But immobility is addictive. And I like this transcending of basic human needs. Who would want to be human anyway? Ah, I am a fool. I can’t go into denial about it. I am human, and wouldn’t belong anywhere else, or as anything else. But I wish I wasn’t.
The café patrons who look so happy now, have they ever felt so out-of-place? Have they ever felt so unwanted and uncared for? Have they ever sat ignored in an unlit area and felt meaningless?
These city lights, these busy streets, the people whom I now observe with the most objective manner and detachment. The times when these were my surroundings and my life feel like part of some distant, ridiculous dream now. Why did it take them so long to realize I didn’t belong? Why make me feel so secure, when they didn’t even want me? Why didn’t they freak and kick me out from the very beginning? They could have spared everyone a lot of confusion. It would’ve been so much easier.
I say that, but I know that’s not what I would have wanted. Isn’t that just so sad? That I say stuff I know to be lies to myself. For example, I know I’m no guru. I’m not some supernatural being trapped in human form. Society’s exclusion of me isn’t their loss, but mine. They don’t need me; I need them. I’m not a wise philosopher; I just consider my confused thoughts and biased theories philosophy. I’m not even that smart. I just tell myself I am to make myself feel better.
But it can’t be the rest of the world that doesn’t see. I must be missing something. And even if I’m not, it wouldn’t change a d*** thing.
I continue watching, lost in my thoughts, going in circles within my mind, until the streets are almost bare, and the traffic becomes almost non-existent. The bars would still be open, of course. I itch to know exactly how late it is, but my watch-clad hand refuses to budge from its position.
It begins to snow again. Softly at first, but picking up in speed. So cold. I’m so stiff and far away. Far away from everything I used to know, far away from the world. I close my eyes and foresee what the world will look like in the morning.
The streets will once-again be covered in a blanket of snow, a pretty nuisance to the humans’ lives. Icicles, reflecting the rays of the sun at its fullest, will sparkle like diamonds, cold to the touch, hanging off telephone wires, buildings, fences, trees, and whatever else is left to freeze outside.
Such as me, a new initiate to the way of stillness, apprentice to the bold frost-covered man behind me. How I wish I could be like my mentor and last forever.
As a symbol, perhaps.