The way the world works is crazy. It makes no sense to me at all. And that's where I the Universe and I don't fit.
My mom always used to tell me she regretted teaching me how to ask questions. Then, after she rethought her statement, she told me 'Actually, now that I think of it, it's like constantly questioning everything was built into your brain. I didn't have to teach you anything."
And it's true. Ever since I was little, all I ever used to do was ask questions. My parents got annoyed with me, because I asked questions that they could never answer, like "How do you think the moon feels?" and "Why doesn't the president just tell everyone to be nice to each other?" Back then, I had so many questions because I thought the world was full of magic and answers and just!! being!! happy!! My fourth grade teacher used to call me a 'deep thinker' which I think is code for 'little weirdo who spends all their time by themselves.'
At my senior age of 16, I can now answer my questions. The moon probably feels like a dusty old rock with a lack of oxygen around it, and the president can't tell everyone what to do because A) If he did, everyone would laugh and carry on, and B) selfishness and chaos is a part of human nature.
And because everyone calls me heartless and a bitch, I guess I'm no different either. But then again, I am, maybe a little. Because of my wonderful questioning abilities. But the more I try to rationalize everything, the less the world makes sense.
ВЫ ЧИТАЕТЕ
Small Chaos
Короткий рассказI don't know what to write for this aside from the fact that it's a short story dealing with an existential crisis, from a girl with no true reason to have one.
