❝In which a celebrity dials a random number in hope of finding one last thing to make him smile before he commits suicide at the end of the month.❞
"I'm going to commit suicide in one months time."
"I think you have the wrong number."
"It can't be t...
This is just a slight warning. This chapter fully looks into Shane's mind and the way he views the world. This includes religion as well as the human race itself. None of it is meant to be offensive at all to anyone. It is simply the way Shane's character is and how I feel it is best represented. That being said, I am truly sorry if any of it upsets you as I do not mean to offend anyone but I felt it was necessary in order to fully explore and understand the way he thinks. Anywayyyysss. Apart from that. Enjoy this chapter!
Your forever grateful author,
Annalisa.
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Shane didn't turn on the light after Jaxon had left.
Instead, he moved to sit in the middle of the room with the dictionary sitting unopened in front of him.
Shane had been consulting the dictionary more often these days. Sometimes he needed an elaborate definition to cover up all the mess that both surrounded and intoxicated him. A definition was clean and concise, creating a false illusion that things were simple. Fake. Fool's gold. Something that looked highly valuable only to be a complete fraud. Something to make ugly things beautiful. Something to make simple things complicated. Something to make complicated things simple. Something to transform a word into the exact thing that it wasn't.
Perhaps that was why he loved them so much.
Shane did not believe in a higher power, even if at times he felt as if he was controlled by one. Everything had an end. Nothing lasted forever. Infinity was the greatest illusion of them all.
Religion was an excuse for how the world came to be. Gods were made up by a bunch of confused humans who didn't understand the world around them. The world itself was a fairy-tale and in a few billion, thousand years it wouldn't even exist. And not because of black holes or big bangs but simply because of the people in it, polluting their home with toxic thoughts and waste.
Shane highly doubted that people would outlive the earth.
It appeared that whoever had been the idiot to grant the human race free will had made a large mistake. All they ever did was hurt each other, causing pain to not only their victim but the world around them. Humans were careless. They did not understand the effect their words had. The human race was not something to be proud of. Shane Caliente was not proud to be a human. Shane Caliente was disgusted with the race he had been born into and what they were capable of doing to each other. Shane Caliente was not proud of himself for hiding away inside himself. Inside his routine. Shane Caliente was not proud to be alive. He was not proud to be breathing.
He was not proud to be sitting in the darkness of his hotel room with nothing but the cold, hard floor reminding him that he still existed.
Shane often had moments like this. Moments to drown in his own head. Moments to speculate. Moments to contemplate all the given definitions of life and how none of them seemed to quite fit. Life was a tragedy with little comic relief to lessen the impact. The world was not a perfectly written story and neither was he.
He doubted the story of his life would even make sense, just a few thousand jumbled words and occasionally a definition.
He knew the anger would come next.
It always did.
He knew the timeline of his emotions as well as he knew the knuckles engraved onto his fist.
First came the wallowing silence, then came the unsheathed anger that flew around the room until every single thing was as broken as he was.
As he felt.
All his obsessions with cleanliness, the categories, the definitions and, most importantly, the need to make sense of everything had led to this mess. The desire to know was what was slowly killing him. All the things he had thought to be medicine had been intermixed with venom and he had drunk it unknowingly. If only he had kept his eyes closed. If only he could have been oblivious to the horrors that surrounded him like the rest of the world seemed to be.
He must have sat there for at least an hour.
Maybe two.
Possibly three.
But, for once, the anger never came.
He took the phone out of his back pocket and dialled the only number that made sense in the disarray of binary that surrounded him.
