Michael looked up at the mirror as he swept the floor. He had never liked what he saw until then and today was no different. He was in his late twenties and yet he had never accepted himself for what he was. It was a cocktail of mixed feelings, anger, pain, disgust and pity. That was all he felt, all he could feel. A short life flashing by in no time. With a name so common his features stood out like Quasimodo. He wished atleast a name like Quasimodo might have provided some escape.
All his childhood had been in an orphanage. Being queer is difficult enough but handling it alone cannot be expressed. His emotions were the result of what he had experienced. Kids are cruel. He was generally the subject of the others frustrations, mostly the butt of their jokes, often bullied, occasionally pitied. The pity was from the adults he did not relate to or his peers who were gentler. Loneliness gave him solace and comfort but beyond that every-time he looked to grab something else he was taught treachery. His disfigured face could barely show emotion, not that anyone would care. Some kids just called his parents ugly names. That didn't bother him too much. Had never known them. It was when they made fun of him that it hurt.
The caretaker sent him to therapy in his teens. Michael was always alone, stammered when he spoke was always afraid, she said. Others got adopted, he was just a gargoyle in the new building. Therapy taught him pity though. As he waited for his turn, he eavesdropped on Paul. Paul had been there after a failed suicide attempt, slitting his wrists. Paul claimed that it was just an experiment in pain gone wrong. He was really happy. Sure he wanted to know what pain was but since he was happy he couldn't attain it. Almost like looking left and right at the same time. They had almost sacked the caretaker over that but Paul's confession saved her. She wanted to take no chances with Michael. As Paul came out of the room he tried to talk to him seeing the fear in the poor kid's eyes. The fear soon turned to disgust and Michael broke down in front of the therapist.
Now after all he didn't know why he remembered this incident. Life outside had been better. He was left alone mostly. He no longer cared about the stares and the whispers. Most people left him alone and the occasional pity could now be an advantage. That was how he landed the job at the library. It was out of the town so it had almost no visitors. The books were falling apart but no one cared. Some people who came there were just at the wrong address, the guard sent them away. He too would mind his own business as the books were of no interest to a partly deaf, mostly blind family man about to retire. They had both understood that neither wanted each others company and both afforded the other the pleasure of ignorance.
Books though served Michael with the luxury of a microscope to the outer world. Initially he believed all he read as does everyone. Slowly he saw through the deliberate lies and finally through accidental ones. Everyone who wrote had their views he thought. Some as they wished to see the society others as they perceived it and still others who believed their limited vision. Michael knew very little of other things but he knew fakes well enough to be skeptical of everything. Everyone's perception is different he believed and if you relied on another man's thoughts then you fooled yourself. There was a sinister side to life he felt that no one saw through or wanted to see through and thinkers focused on the mundane perceptions instead. Society itself was the fearsome guardian that hid the secret for all he saw was an ouroboros, a snake eating its own tail. It may not seem so to anyone else but that was the most unnatural and blasphemous vision for him.
There was no point in dwelling in the past, to further open his mind, to break free of his shackles, he needed to look beyond what he had been taught or had learnt. He popped in a few sleeping pills, held the wire tightly. The electricity through it would jolt him enough to keep him awake despite the pills. He then ate a few mushrooms. As he felt them come back up he washed them down with some vile spirit. The shocks kept him up though as he felt his insides burn.
He saw a boy approach. The kid was in his late teens or more. Well built, his face had the beauty and innocence of a cherub and had a sight of familiarity about him. Michael knew him but couldn't place him. He wanted to smile but there was a feeling of despair as he noticed the familiarity. The boy asked him if he wanted the truth, Michael nodded. "There is no going back though once you know it" the boy warned. "I have no need to go back. This is all I need" said Michael.
"Very well then" The boy smiled as he understood Michael's desperation.
"It is as you thought. Yin and Yang are not balanced or existent. The world is a collective conscience. There is no creation but for our thoughts." The boy held the leaf of a plant nearby. Michael had not noticed the plant earlier. He held it as a new parent embraces a child, lovingly yet afraid of touching it as though it were so brittle it would crumble in the wind alone. The boy continued "We are all as these leaves, tied to the plant. Physically we all are like plants. Evolution apparently was not smart enough to give us forms like humans or even animals. They are but the product of our imagination."
"All we did was stick in the ground and grow and die. Over eons we merged all our conscience. We had no purpose so we dreamt up the world as you have seen it. Future generations were born in the dreams and died in the dreams. Life gave them a purpose with its yin and yang. There are no dualities in the real world, Earth as you do not know is very different. Some may even call it beautiful. Freedom from the dream as you shall now realize is step into another prison. You shall be disconnected as the truth will set you free and wake you up as you have chosen. There you shall have the single path of survival. It is not difficult but it is a boring road as we have seen. The only prize to be won there is peace."
