Meanie The Genie: Recycled Happiness

Written by Ruminator (Also known as Abrar)

‘What is true?’

That was all it took for a solitary thought to impart some semblance of meaning to me: truth is an ageless face with creases of worry sketched into its forehead. Truth no longer has any self-esteem. It suffers at the hand of a sycophant known to me as ambition. In short, Truth is not a chronic worrier, rather it is a chronic warrior, one that has been fighting from dusk to dawn just to remain free of bias. There is not a shadow of a doubt that Truth has fallen prey to the wily charms of its cousin the ever so sweet prevaricating lie.

Mother always told me that if I ever went in search of the absolute truth, the first place I should look must be our local convenience store. There I could purchase it at half the typical retail price.

                                                                        *

which brings me to this moment…

Riddled with bullet holes and smelling of moth paintball the gray curtains could not help but watch in horror as unadulterated daylight passed right through them. A rather opaque sight for the mind to digest. Then came the ghastly wind, giving the poor curtains goosebumps. Droplets of rain soon joined the fray soaking a chillingly cold cloth in acid rain. The general stationed in the sun must have noted the dismay in my eyes for he sent more troops. Before long sunlight burned through my ragtag defenses, spiraled and nose-dived into my eyes like a kamikaze pilot. I must have fainted because my mind went blank, kind of like your answers or lack thereof in response to a surprise math quiz.

Nothing works the way it’s supposed to. Nothing. I wouldn’t even be in this sorry mess if I hadn’t been ruminating all night. In fact, It was now impossible to tell if the real nightmare was just a bad dream or reality. More on that later, first let me kvetch about the situation at hand.

Picture this: Majestically lying inside the world’s most hygienic dumpster-a metaphorical one- was a kid. Littered all around him were pieces of scrapped paper. Either he had writer’s block or he harbored a grudge against trees. Had the RRRR- radical, reduce, reuse and recycle – environmentalists found him, they would surely have taken pity on him and upgraded his status from tramp to trampled. Safe to say, to the boy that topic- one rife with social justice warrior’s tears- was #1 on the list of tabooed taboos.

Who could the person in question possibly be?

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Meanie The Genie: Recycled Happiness

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s