Absurd

You know the thing about imagination: It stays dead if you keep it in a cage.

Things happen. Everyday. Every second. Something is happening. The vastness of the world has made it so. The world as in the entire universe. But let’s not get carried away. We have to keep an anchor within us if we are to write a story.

Let’s say a character, Fyodor, comes into a room. The door he opened, is made out of wood. When I say room, you must assume it is inside a building. It might even be a house. Let’s say it is a house. He is in a house, and now he is in a room inside this particular house. He fumbles few things in his pocket and empties it. There is a table. It is also made of wood, though the table is white in colour. It would frankly unsettle someone who lived in 12th century to see a white coloured table. I mean, they might even regard it as untouchable. Why would someone think an inanimate object as untouchable, well, that we might not know for certain. But we can surely say, they have seen enough tables and the white coloured one is not setting the scene right. The scene being the room. Anyways, Fyodor topples a water bottle when he puts his things on the table. The bottle is made out of plastic and is empty. And so it falls on the floor. No sound is made by its falling. Fyodor may not even notice the bottle has fallen. He walks away from the table and towards the bed. It is fairly big, the bed. Maybe the carpet, that’s pale green, helps to keep the falling of bottle quiet.

Fyodor now lays down in this bed made for two. He is alone and he hears a few things. The sound is not from the room and even from the house. The window next to the bed has drapes and he cannot see what is outside. Even though, Fyodor has his eyes closed and couldn’t care less what is going on outside. A few drunk people might be making those sounds. Since, Fyodor is laying down after he enters this room, we can fairly assume it is dark outside. He has no lantern but the room is lit. There’s a bulb on the ceiling. We don’t know if Fyodor turned it on when he entered the room. It might even turn on when someone opens the door. We still don’t know what year it is. There might be technologies that help a citizen such as Fyodor to afford such accomodation. But the light is on and Fyodor has his eyes closed. There is a quilt or a blanket next to him but he doesn’t bother to cover him.

Fyodor is wearing socks, and pants. We can assume, he wears a shirt as well. We don’t seem to recall Fyodor taking off his clothes, and since he had things in his pocket, he surely keep things in his pant. To be fair, he could have had a jacket. But who even keep things in jacket pocket?

He didn’t have a watch. A watch would be the only thing to put in the jacket pocket. But, it seems there is a ticking. And it is coming from his wrist. There is a watch on his wrist and it is tied together by a band of some sort. Strange. We will let the watch be.

There is not much happening in this particular house. A man is sleeping in his bed. And now we are bored of watching him sleep. Something must happen, so we can continue on this journey. An alien, perhaps?

This is not the nineteen hundreds. So that would be boring too. Maybe people flying. No too ridiculous. Let’s keep it simple and literal.

Watching Fyodor sleep, we too get tired. But we can’t sleep next to him. It is not our bed. We must not sleep. And we cannot sit on the floor. The pale green, though dark, repels me from sitting on it. We must stand, and together. We have a journey to maintain.

We must leave this house at once. But it is dark so, we might not see many things during the night. Let us transport ourselves to a bridge.

It is a bridge. It is also white. The white and black seem to be the fashion. It has blue lights coming out of the wooden floor, where we are now walking. We cannot step on it, the light, and cause curiosity to other characters. We must stay invisible and just observe. Here are two people walking together. They are both men, and they are holding hands of each other. If we are not wrong, they are a couple. And they walk sparingly. They take a step towards the middle of the bridge and smooch. And they take a step again. A wonderful world, indeed. People have time here. It seems. Just like us.

We saw a man lie down and a couple take their time to cross the bridge. There is water underneath the bridge. How deep the water is, we don’t know. And We don’t care either. The couple that we saw were wearing heavy clothes. It must be winter. And the water is sure to be cold. We will not try to prove that point. We will assume it is cold and move on. Nothing much to see around this bridge. But big, tall buildings. They might be what people call apartments. Fyodor lived in a house. It was two storey. And the buildings here look like they are 50 storey tall. We have time to check each floor and each room. But we should not waste our senses in these things. Let’s move on from here. It is still dark and I realised we didn’t describe the couple.

One of them had golden hair. It was shoulder length. And the other had pink hair. Very unique and absurd. But he looked good with that hair. Pink hair, take care. They were watering dark clothings.

‘Multiverse of madness,’ one of them had muttered. It makes no sense to us. But we could assume, they are talking about an interesting hypothesis. There is, indeed, no such thing as multiverse. We would have known it. If there had been. I mean we have all the time to look for it. But we are not going to. Let that hypothesis be a hypothesis.

There is a sock on the ground. And it is alone. Have you ever lost one sock from a pair? I assume you have. We can wonder what happens to that sock! Maybe the multiverse of madness warped it here. Funny. Someone might be irritated because they can’t find this particular sock. If only we could transport ourselves to this irritated individual. No, we won’t help them by saying we found the sock. What good would it do? The sock is already dirty. The individual should just buy a new pair. It is still dark and there are no shops open. And nobody has just one pair of socks, now do they?

A homeless person might. A strange world, indeed. It seems, people have forgotten either because of ignorance or just because they are working towards an ideal to take car of each other. A tribe, yes, that seems to exist only to fulfil that ideal they are working towards. Where is the pyramid? Only in people’s mind. And that is a powerful thing. The mind, of course. But the pyramid in their head might be strong too. It looks like everyone has it. The thoughts fight with a sharp knife and try to get on top. The one at the top gets to make the decision. Of course, it cannot use its knife anymore. It has to just defend it without any sharp objects. Shame, equality is also fought through this pyramid it seems. Pyra-mind, a funny pun. There is no laughter. Though people pay their money to watch someone make them laugh. Stories, it seems, sells here. But so does everything else. You just have to find someone to pay for it.

We are now seated on this train that runs only in a track. It follows only this track and no other. It would be confusing if it just changed tracks and went the other way. It would be funny to watch the disarray if it did happen. Chaos, it turns out is abhorred in this world. Order. red light, green light. Stop signs. There are no Go signs. People trust themselves very little here. Or they made it easier to not have to think, for they are striving towards an ideal. Yes, that makes more sense. The less to think about. the more powerful some thoughts become. Yes, the one at the top stay at the top because of these ideas. Very interesting, indeed. Who could have thought this is the way things could turn out to be.

There is smoke coming out of the balcony. Maybe someone is cooking. Let’s get closer to the smoke.

The people here are not cooking. At least not any food. They are pulling something in by burning something that is near their mouth and exhaling causing smoke. Yes, they are cooking their minds. Who are they feeding the cooked mind, we still don’t know. By the looks of it, they don’t care who eats the cooked mind. It has to be cooked. They seem into this drag and exhale.

Addiction, yes, fairly certain, exists here. Addiction towards something, or even against something.

Addiction against the Disorder, of course. The whole place is built with that idea. Maybe addicted towards Order. One of those two, or even both at the same time. I see now, the multiverse of madness coming to life in these people’s lives.

I think we should let these people be. They have made their point. They have invented plastic, at least.