Khan here,
this is an infintely greater version of my story. As this is a personal favourite, I would very much prefer some critique.
Blaming other people has always been easy for me. As a young boy, I blamed different things on different people. It was a rainbow of lies in a colourless world. However, it was my world, I loved it so. It was nice to live in my quiet bubble, not cause anyone trouble. I blamed the larger things in life on larger people. Maybe I thought that would make my problems seem less small. Maybe I thought it would make the truth seem more grand. Maybe it was none of those things, just the fancy of a child.
For my failures in moral decisions, I liked to blame the Devil. How large did that seem, I wonder? I said that the Devil picked on my weaknesses and tricked me. My father didn't agree, he told me most people think that. The Devil doesn't pick on our weaknesses, but our strengths. My father pointed out how people vigourlessly guard their weaknesses, but no one paid any attention to their strengths. There was a man, I remember from the books, named Hitler. All I knew was that he was a bad man who committed many foul deeds. Later, I realised his strength had been used against him. You see, he had a knack for storytelling. I remember another name, it was Stalin. The man could preform wonderful magic tricks. His strength was exploited as well.
There was this bridge built over a small stream, I remembered it from my youth. I could never tell how long or how short it was, but I liked sitting on it and staring at my reflection. I wondered at what would I see, looking back at me. For years I sat on that bridge, sometimes moving. At times bridge seemed to go on forever, sometimes it seemed it was about to end. Regardless, I didn't want to leave it. The bridge gave off this feeling; It was hard to describe, you felt a sort of sadness that made you happy. The bridge gave off this smell, it smelled vintage but fresh. It was a kind of a cold smell, the one you get on a rainy day. It smelled like nostalgia. So I sat on that bridge, sniffing nostalgia, my vision going blue.
One day, though, the reflection changed; I had company. The Devil sat beside me, not saying anything. I wasn't suprised, everything I blamed came back to me eventually. However, I was curious about one thing. "So, what is it you exactly do?" He seemed taken back, genuinely suprised. "Why, I don't do a thing." He rummaged in his pocket and took out a jar of honey. He dipped his finger in the jar and took out a single drop. For some reason, I couldn't keep my eyes off that drop. It gave off a yellow, sickly sweet, dayglo smell. It was like a narotic for my vision; I knew it was disgusting, but I couldn't stop looking. The Devil slathered the drop of honey on a dead tree. The silence was broken by a bee approaching the tree. I gave a sad smile, there was no hope for the energetic bee. I didn't notice before, but there was a lizard there the whole time. Sitting on the base of the tree, it's cold eyes boring into the yellow. There was a surreal standstill between the two creatures, yellow and green surrounded by blue. It was like watching a movie, more specifically, a psychedelic noir. The lizard ate the bee, but it's tongue was stuck to the honey. To my suprise, the lizard started to struggle; I thought the honey would taste good. Wrenching it's tongue away from the tree, it darted towards me.
The lizard came at the foot of man, I stomped on it. I kicked it into the stream, and the stream became colourful. I didn't understand why I killed the thing, but I felt like I had to do it. The Devil looked at me and said,
"Now look sir, what did I do?"
There was a pause. There was a long, long pause. I had answered him wisely. Then, I crossed that bridge.
"O thou, who didst with pifall and with gin
Beset the road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not predestin'd evil round
Enmesh, and then impute my fall to sin." - Omar Khayyam
this is an infintely greater version of my story. As this is a personal favourite, I would very much prefer some critique.
Blaming other people has always been easy for me. As a young boy, I blamed different things on different people. It was a rainbow of lies in a colourless world. However, it was my world, I loved it so. It was nice to live in my quiet bubble, not cause anyone trouble. I blamed the larger things in life on larger people. Maybe I thought that would make my problems seem less small. Maybe I thought it would make the truth seem more grand. Maybe it was none of those things, just the fancy of a child.
For my failures in moral decisions, I liked to blame the Devil. How large did that seem, I wonder? I said that the Devil picked on my weaknesses and tricked me. My father didn't agree, he told me most people think that. The Devil doesn't pick on our weaknesses, but our strengths. My father pointed out how people vigourlessly guard their weaknesses, but no one paid any attention to their strengths. There was a man, I remember from the books, named Hitler. All I knew was that he was a bad man who committed many foul deeds. Later, I realised his strength had been used against him. You see, he had a knack for storytelling. I remember another name, it was Stalin. The man could preform wonderful magic tricks. His strength was exploited as well.
There was this bridge built over a small stream, I remembered it from my youth. I could never tell how long or how short it was, but I liked sitting on it and staring at my reflection. I wondered at what would I see, looking back at me. For years I sat on that bridge, sometimes moving. At times bridge seemed to go on forever, sometimes it seemed it was about to end. Regardless, I didn't want to leave it. The bridge gave off this feeling; It was hard to describe, you felt a sort of sadness that made you happy. The bridge gave off this smell, it smelled vintage but fresh. It was a kind of a cold smell, the one you get on a rainy day. It smelled like nostalgia. So I sat on that bridge, sniffing nostalgia, my vision going blue.
One day, though, the reflection changed; I had company. The Devil sat beside me, not saying anything. I wasn't suprised, everything I blamed came back to me eventually. However, I was curious about one thing. "So, what is it you exactly do?" He seemed taken back, genuinely suprised. "Why, I don't do a thing." He rummaged in his pocket and took out a jar of honey. He dipped his finger in the jar and took out a single drop. For some reason, I couldn't keep my eyes off that drop. It gave off a yellow, sickly sweet, dayglo smell. It was like a narotic for my vision; I knew it was disgusting, but I couldn't stop looking. The Devil slathered the drop of honey on a dead tree. The silence was broken by a bee approaching the tree. I gave a sad smile, there was no hope for the energetic bee. I didn't notice before, but there was a lizard there the whole time. Sitting on the base of the tree, it's cold eyes boring into the yellow. There was a surreal standstill between the two creatures, yellow and green surrounded by blue. It was like watching a movie, more specifically, a psychedelic noir. The lizard ate the bee, but it's tongue was stuck to the honey. To my suprise, the lizard started to struggle; I thought the honey would taste good. Wrenching it's tongue away from the tree, it darted towards me.
The lizard came at the foot of man, I stomped on it. I kicked it into the stream, and the stream became colourful. I didn't understand why I killed the thing, but I felt like I had to do it. The Devil looked at me and said,
"Now look sir, what did I do?"
There was a pause. There was a long, long pause. I had answered him wisely. Then, I crossed that bridge.
"O thou, who didst with pifall and with gin
Beset the road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not predestin'd evil round
Enmesh, and then impute my fall to sin." - Omar Khayyam
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