\"Writing.Com
*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2050829-Life-is-for-Living
Item Icon
\"Reading Printer Friendly Page Tell A Friend
No ratings.
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Dark · #2050829
Our lives tend to organize themselves in a way that we move from day to day mindlessly.
Jack drove his forest green Toyota Corolla north on interstate 81. His mind was blank and his face effortlessly manifested the physical representation of his empty mind. Everything was slightly out of focus, and the stretches of road were broken every few miles by a right or left turn that did nothing to provide a break in the monotony. Darkness stretched in every direction as he moved from the last uninspired small town, to the next nameless postcard-perfect hamlet. He was the IT field agent for a moderately successful corporation that operated roadside convenience stores. There was a never ending list of software, hardware, and network issues to address from Gettysburg PA to Rockland Maine. When Jack managed to check one stop off of his list two more were added. Most recently he managed to reconnect the network cable that had been carelessly unplugged, and managed to bring the Lancaster Shop and Go to its knees.

Jack tightened his grip on his steering wheel and sat up straighter in his seat, in an attempt to shake off the feelings of fatigue that had set in. It was at that moment the first drops of rain began coalescing on his windshield. Within moments the drops had turned to a downpour. The windshield wipers feverishly worked to keep pace with deluge. Listening to the violent rhythm of the blades and precipitation, Jack decided to find shelter for the evening. The rain poured so violently that he could not manage more than a crawl if he wanted to see what was ahead of him. The lights of oncoming traffic reflected on the rain to make the road impossible to see, even at this snails pace.

After exiting the interstate he came to an intersection, and could barely see the blue sign proclaimed that there was a hotel 2 miles away. After a short drive, that took too long at the snails pace, he could see in the distance the hotel office that was dimly lit. Jack turned into the parking lot. Through the large plate glass window, the clerk was sitting behind the desk diligently reading. Deliberately placing the car in park at the closest parking space, he raced to the front door. As he ran the frigid moisture accumulated on his black hoodie. In the time it took to run the ten feet to the door, Jack was soaked and cold. Opening the door he noticed that his was the only car in the parking lot of the tiny, pay by hour, hotel, motel, whatever, it was cheap and that was what was important.

The young clerk looked up over the book, pushed his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose, and nodded a, not so enthusiastic, greeting to Jack. Jack stood at the counter for a few moments waiting for the man to speak. He casually sat down the book and brushed his long dark hair away for his acne covered face. It was 39$ for the night and $10 for an hour,, Jack decided against the hourly rate, and rented the room for the entire evening. Rather than a nap he would be opting for a full nights sleep. The attendant set the keycard on the counter and told him it was room number 89. Walking back the corridor to his room Jack passed two patrons passionately kissing just outside a room. The lady, or at least Jack assumed that it was a lady, was dressed in a manner that didn't suggest that her sex was available,, but screamed that it. Based on the repute of the establishment he guessed that these two were strangers, and that they were paying by the hour, or rather her John was paying by the hour. Based on the fact that his was the only car, he presumed that the man didn't want anyone knowing where he was.

Jack casually tossed his keys with a clink, onto the dresser as he walked through the door. He took off his wet coat and dropped it on the floor beside the door. Sitting down sluggishly on the edge of the bed Jack reached down and took off his shoes. Without taking off his wet clothes he laid back to rest his head on the stiff pillow. Looking towards the door he could see that he hadn't managed to swing it closed. He drug himself back out of the bed and with some effort managed to ensure the door was closed and locked. He sluggishly returned to the bed and slowly peeled off what he had been wearing. Then he turned on the television and quickly looked for something to watch, white noise on every station. He looked around the room and learned that the room had apparently not been cleaned for several weeks. The heating unit under the window was releasing an unpleasant smell, and it was quite loud. There was a stain on the second bed in the room, and he was not fully convinced that it was not blood. Without thinking, what the presence of the blood might have suggested, his head hit the scratch pillow again, and he was asleep.

While Jack slept, across the cosmos, vast light years from where he rested, attention was turned to him. Perhaps in the moment just before sleep his unconcious mind had reminded him of origins dark and old, and as the thoughts came to him so close to that edge of sleep that he could not even acknowledge then. If we could see it, that is if it wasn’t so far away that it was well beyond our ability to see in space or time, it would appear to us as a massive cloud of dust and gas. It’s innocuous appearance would give us little indication of it’s nature. Being somewhat arrogant in our thinking, most of us believe that only on this planet has the universe become aware, and began to wonder where it came from. We have labored under the idea that our consciousness is the only kind of consciousness. Perhaps it is by design, we cannot see our own ignorance. Even now as Jack is deep in sleep, the vortex is consuming a system only slightly larger than our own. In a matter of seconds countless millennia of random collisions that has made way to two stars, and seven planets, will be undone. In it’s wake will be a void, not even the slightest hint of carbon or hydrogen will remain. For one planet in this system, the cycles of life has ended, never to begin again.

In the beginning when the vortex was small, It gave birth to a thousand organisms, on countless planets all over the universe. One sole driving purpose, to create life, or rather to set about making conditions favorable, and supplying the material necessary to create life. In some places that spark to hold so fervently as to envelope entire systems in only a few million of our years. Societies with cultures we could only dream of. With ways of thinking so foreign to our own, and some remarkably similar. Eventually each met the same fate, annihilation.

If the beginning was marked by creation, it is now defined by destruction. But why destroy? That is a question that we will never answer. It could be compared to a Phytoplankton asking why create radio astronomy, it simply doesn’t have the capacity to store the amount of information necessary to ask, let alone answer that question. But asking, and knowing why the wind blows does not stop it’s blowing. With that end, the attention has drawn to Earth, to us, to Jack. Hurtling the light years across space to this moment.
Waking with a start, Jack felt uneasy. He wasn’t cold, he wasn’t hot either, in fact he didn’t feel anything. He opened his eyes, or rather he didn’t, his eyes didn’t exist. It wasn’t black, he saw nothing at all because he no longer had eyes, nor a body. There was a feeling of cold in the tips of his finger as he fell asleep, it to was gone. Alone that is what it was, he was alone. Simply by himself, with nothing around but the idea that he still existed, somewhere in some place, or perhaps some time. At the same time he felt as though he was inexorably bound in one location, and simultaneously hurtling uncontrollably into a great unknown. Towards a point which he would never reach, time has broken down. At a distance smaller than the breadth of a hair resides every atom, molecule and consciousness that exists on earth, yet each is alone, confined to its space and, at each passing moment compressed more still. As every language, every story, every hope and dream, passes from existence the only reminder of what once thrived on the third rock of a now non existent star is a hand full of aging space craft hurtling towards the stars, but in time those too will be consumed; and all humanity will be erased.
© Copyright 2015 theover (therover8511 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2050829-Life-is-for-Living