This is a random story I wrote on a flight from Detroit to Los Angeles. It is based on a social pattern I have noticed and been formulating. This has some repetition and symbolism, but it is only a first draft- and may lead to follow up posts as a literary series.
I look around, and all the faces are the same. Or at least- that is- extremely familiar to each other. The problem is none of them know it. They are each other, and by each other I mean they are “normal”. That is the word they take for granted, and unconsciously let guide their existence. And it is the name for the most dangerous secret in the world.
Many still say it’s what’s on the inside that counts, an old adage the warm-hearted elders love to repeat. To a point that piece of wisdom is true. Because like I said, on the outside all are really the same. Externally we are an identical mystery, and line up as physical followers. Our faces are composed of the same features and expressions. Now what we say, think and do differentiate us right? But while most humans are given free will to live out these acts as they please, in the end they all turn in the same direction. People tend to laugh at the same jokes, share tears and engage in ideas that are repeated, universal, or wrong, because they feel right- by society’s standards.
I am walking down the slope to my “school”, an institution that survived the Change. I am surrounded by these familiar faces. They mill around me, crowding the quad, not sensing the truth across my neck. And I have to get out of here. But I can’t. I can’t forsake them, I must start the Second Change, which is opposite of the first. This one will take longer and it is only the beginning. I will perform the reverse, change the inside in order to change their outside. I must save all from the ultimate mistake- of living by routine and ignoring the deeper meanings swishing within their souls. I see it when they don’t, the purple wisps- essence of true life- swirling about their feet. Right now they judge by sight, by majority. The people are ignorant of the potential deafly hanging in the streets, breaking only when they stride through it in blindness. Again, they do not realize that their faces are all the same. They are the unconcerned.
A Purpose is buried inside each and every one of them. The Purpose is planted within their being, nestled and dormant in the beating heart and buzzing brain. In this limited state it keeps them alive- but only in a transparent reality… To the point of superficial notions, narrow-minded questions, selfish tendencies, and isolated views, things which temporarily please them but later hurt them.
The boy passing by me won’t have an identity in this world, and the next, unless his Purpose is pulled up and revealed with a name. Then his face, his life, will finally be real with meaning.
A girl on my other side has uncovered pieces of her Purpose, and does not have the chance to see the whole object. Her face remains the same in shape, but different in color. Aware of this, but unsure about what it means, she is too bothered or fearful to find out the truth.
My total Purpose is found, in a sense I am invisible. I look the same to those who are the same, but I am not. My Purpose is represented by the cross. I am a part of the real reality, and the Second Change.
I am different.