Wednesday, November 28, 2007

I might be about to geet expelled because I wrote this a month ago
Story I’ve Decided to Tell: Story of my AP English Class to talk about the mixed feelings evoked by society.
Style to emulate: Orwell
Writing Style: narration
Title: Delirium Trigger ~Pull It and You’ve Won~
Theme: Madness from indecision and society pressures
Don’t forget to double-space and check over it.

Delirium Trigger ~Pull It and You’ve Won~
By: Little Digital Deus ex Machina “Conrad Collins”

First Chapter ~Only Chapter~: This isn’t a World; it’s a Death-trap!

“Kyoukai…” 1

I know it to be true, and yet for some reason at that time I was a little confused as to whether or not I was correct. Every time I remembered that I had to do it, there was a dense pain surging through my entire skull. To someone on the outside; someone who isn’t like me wouldn’t understand it properly. When a normal person hears about homework, they wouldn’t ordinarily associate it with suicide or even bloodlust, but in my case, maybe these words all shared a bit of meaning.

For you see, on that day like many similar days around that time, I was in a state of utter bewilderment at my very own attitude. How could it be that just a few feet away laid my English textbook when I should have been on my desk, being read from? How could it be that rather than taking the hour I would have spent completing the assignment, I found myself merely at my desk listening to loud music and incessantly clicking back and forth between pages that were never altered?

The blame is impossible to place. The psychiatrist might have said that I needed medication. That I had Attention Deficit Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and Restless Leg Syndrome and that I needed to be hooked up on as many pills as possible. I’m glad the psychiatrist has yet to open his mouth yet, though, because I would have taken the liberty of overdosing mere days in.

They aren’t the only type with an opinion, though. Let’s listen to the parents who both work all day and night, or to the teachers who hate their jobs, why don’t we? Of course I was just lazy. I probably needed to take this class – AP English 11 – because it would come to my aid in the future. Some time in life, there would be a reward for my hard work. “You only get out of anything as much as you put in,” is what echoed from the throats of all; my father, my mother, my guidance counselor, and even my technology teacher who lectured the class daily.

But no matter who you ask, between the psychoanalyst and the hard-working common man, you never can predict the future. And the only thing that everyone; and I do mean everyone was talking about; is the future. The future that came from the following of this path paved with silver. This was the path that I was born to take. This was the path that people could not look down upon – only up to. This was Zettai Unmei Mokushiroku 2 Following this path was the most likely road to happiness, and the only way to assure a reasonably happy future. By going through with this class; by going through to college, and getting a degree, to work a job I don’t hate to make money to do what I want, to live a life that was denied to my dad; I would live a euphoric dream. I would live the American Dream.

“But I am not an American,” were the next words I typed, having fumed over my rant to my best of friends via the Yahoo! Messenger window. He and I talked all too often, because all too often at least one of us was bored out of our damn minds. However, we only truly had each other to talk to, because we are two of a kind. Two who share the same passions, hobbies, ways of life, views on society; the only difference between us is our perfectly opposite personalities. I’d like to consider myself his foil.

“But you WERE born and raised in America.” My friend thought, ultimately, using logic and little of anything else.

“>_> so were you. Anyway, I always pick ‘other’ when I fill out my race in surveys.” It was perfectly normal for us to break a serious discussion with jokes and side-notes. After all, we had all the time in the world, right? “Anyway, I really don’t feel like reading this goddamn book. Even if it IS Orwell…” He was my favorite Western author, yet the thought of turning him into a homework assignment disgusted me.

“You better get to work anyway, no use failing the class if you’re not allowed to drop it.” Every second or two I glanced over at the clock. This was partly out of habit and partly out of content for myself for waiting so long to begin.

“Meh… Kyoukai desu~~…this is really stupid… I really don’t want to do this…” There wasn’t a feeling of déjà vu in this sentence as much as there was the lingering memory of a week before when I’d spent the whole day, 2 days in a row, completing assignments for this class. For a full month now, things had been this way. When I knew that there was work to be done, it wasn’t merely that I couldn’t do it, but I couldn’t do anything at all. I’d get the materials out and have a Word Document open, but instead I’d find myself doing something pointless. This was the most miserable feeling I have had in a long time. Many things begged to be done. I had anime to be watching, I had video games to be played, I had music to be listened to, I had points to make, I had a story to write, and all of this was so much more important than homework.

But those voices cut deep. Those were the voices of people who had already left the prison of high school. Those were people who had jobs now. Even the college student I knew had their own thoughts on my situation, and they had their advice to give. And the advice was always the same; that in some way, taking AP English 11 would help me eventually. That somehow, for some reason, being in this class and learning whatever the hell it was that I was supposedly learning, was going to pay off in the end. And the worst part is that I listened to all of these people. I believed them.
There were already bullets in the gun. It was already pressed against my head and I was standing there with my fingers on the trigger, but my arm gradually lowered and the Evoker disappeared. The gun was gone for one reason only – the fact that I knew I could never pull the trigger and end the nightmare. The gun had disappeared when I decided that it really was pointless to live a life in fear or contempt. For the first time in 2 long years, I had finally pulled the gun away and smiled with all of my heart. I knew that the only real path was the path that one made with their own soul. Even if life was nothing more than the meaningless whim of a consciousness to conform itself to rules it created for itself and couldn’t escape, that life ought to be endured in a way that was not intolerable, as death could only be better than even minute suffering. I’d come to accept that if I dared to live, I would live only by my own terms.

And yet, here I was, in my room, doing nothing save the occasional message to my friend. Here I was, locked in thoughts of pain and laziness, unable to even convert coherence into my own mind.