Writing Challenge: What do you want to be remembered for?

Humans have a weird tendency to want to be remembered, long after they’re gone. To leave their legacy, their mark on the world. This can be achieved through multiple ways: leaving a reputation (see: Mother Theresa, Steve Jobs etc), or leaving irrevocable damage (see: Hitler and Stalin etc), or have significant impact on culture (see: Beethoven, DaVinci etc), or knowledge (see: Einstein, Sigmund Freud etc). Or, as ordinary people do, leave descendants and pass on your genes and your name.

For me, I’m not like regular people. I have a rather negative view of humanity, dysthymic even. I find humanity, and its efforts, rather arbitrary. We laugh, we cry, we toil, we breed — to what ends? Earth is so tiny in this infinite space, confined within the boundaries of time and matter. What could we do that could possibly mean anything in the face of infinity?

My Christian education would force me to answer: our souls. Each person, each choice and decision, each prayer and redemption, matters because we are important to the Creator, our Father. Which begs the question: where does God stand in infinity? Is He, Himself, confined within the boundaries of infinity, like all matter that make up our world? Or did He create infinity, like we created infinity in numbers, and therefore stands outside it, like the omnipotent, omnipresent entity He is taught to be? Is there an infinity beyond Him, like space is beyond numbers?

Infinity, and God, or any all-encompassing entity for that matter, is a concept extremely foreign to humans. It is not within our cognitive ability to understand such concepts. 

Likewise, even in the event of a omnipotent God beyond infinity, it is incomprehensible that every human soul is important. While there is a finite number of human souls, there are simply too numerous for each one to matter. Each soul is as important as each atom that makes up, say, a tree. All atoms are important, but in the grand scheme of things (the tree), a couple million misplaced atoms would not matter very much indeed.

Again, the concept of individual importance in the face of incomprehensible numbers is a concept foreign to our cognitive abilities.

So, what would I like to be remembered for? As my philosophy would suggest, I would expect to not be remembered very much after all. But despite my beliefs and doubts, I find the very idea of dying a concrete death, a very painful thought. Such is the juxtaposition of the human mind. 

“They say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time a bit later on when somebody says your name for the last time.” -Banksy

Afternotes: I started the 30-day writing challenge one semester ago and quite completely forgot about it, until recently. I've been going through some existential crisis, mainly doubts in my belief system, and have taken a very dysthymic attitude. I hope I can work it out soon (my parents seem very disappointed).

Dysthymia: a mood disorder characterized by chronic mildly depressed or irritable mood often accompanied by other symptoms (as eating and sleeping disturbances, fatigue, and poor self-esteem)

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 2

26 Dec 2015 (oops I missed a day dammit)
Day 2: Tell about a character who lost something important to him/her.

Charlie met Daniel at a company event. 

They both worked for Walter Industries, one of the most profitable companies in the world. Charlie got the job through spectacular GPA and interview; Daniel got his through his father, not that he needed it. Charlie handled financial transactions for the Asian branches; Daniel was a genius at advertising. Charlie was a young highflier who was still looking for her passions; Daniel already landed his dream job.

The first impression was not spectacular. Their boss, Mr. Walter, a man in his fifties with streaked grey hair and three marriages, arranged for the Asian department to sit with the advertising department, for he was too lazy to organise seating other than in alphabetical order. Charlie arrived early. Daniel arrived three minutes late and sat beside Charlie. They made small talk, smiled politely, and went home with utter nonchalance. They forgot each other’s names within the week.

Daniel first started to really notice Charlie a year later, when he was assigned to create an ad campaign for the Asian department’s new product. He spent most of his time with the designer of the product and only saw Charlie a total of two times he first week, both when he went to the lounge for a cuppa. She walked with her head held high, the sound of strong, sure steps clicking away from her black heels. While Charlie was not extraordinarily beautiful, Daniel found that she was a very attractive woman. He was attracted to her confidence, which could easily be mistaken as pride had he not seen her pouring over her notes in her work-messy desk, and her smile that can only be described as confident. By the end of the first week, Daniel’s interest was piqued by this sure, strong young woman, but he did not even know her name.

Daniel made the first move. The next time he saw Charlie in the lounge, he approached her under the pretence of discussing the advertisement budget. But because they both wanted more, the conversation easily diverged into personal stories. Chatting in the lounge turned into never-ending texting. Regular texting turned into regular lunches during hours. Lunches extended to dinners. Work day meetings extended to holiday meetings. Constant meetings were eventually not enough, and they moved in together, a year after Daniel made the first move.

Charlie met Richard at a company event. 

Their first meeting was spectacular. Charlie’s friend, Ms Evans, a woman in her fifties with streaked grey hair and zero marriages, arranged for Charlie’s start-up company, Charlie & Co., to sit with the people of Chunky Crisps Industry, for she was too lazy to organise seating other than in alphabetical order. Charlie arrived early. Richard was already there and intentionally emptied the seat beside him. They made small talk, smiled politely, and went to his home with electrified nerves. They never forgot each other’s names.

Daniel first started to really notice Charlie a month later, when he went home early because of a sudden fever. She spent most of her days in the company and only saw Daniel two times that week, both when she went home for a change of clothes. She walked with her head down, the sound of muffled tip-toe tapping on their wooden floors. While Charlie was not extraordinarily quiet, Daniel found that she was very detached. He saw her wilfulness, which he realised he had mistaken for confidence had he not seen her in bed with Richard that day, and her smile could only be described as calcuated. By the end of the week, Daniel lost the wilful, flakey young woman, but he could not forget her name.

Afterthoughts: Wanted to write a fluffy, tragic story of lost love but realised I rambled too much and exceeded the word limit so I made Charlie a cheating a-hole to end it. 613 words not including Charlie’s pov. A story of lost love.

Charlie’s POV, after Daniel’s POV:
Charlie first started to really notice Daniel when he was assigned to create an ad campaign for the her department’s new product. He spent most of his time with the designer of the product and she only saw him a total of two times the first week, both when she went to the lounge for snacks. He walked with slow, deliberate, long steps and barely any sound. While Daniel was not extraordinarily handsome, Charlie found that Daniel was a very attractive man. She was attracted to his easy-going demeanour, which could easily be mistaken for laziness had she not seen his multitudes of drafts and proposals, and his smile that made her lips quirk reflexively. By the end of the first week, Charlie’s interest was piqued by this capable, friendly young man, but she did not even know his name. [Can delete.]

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 1

So I've decided to take up the 30 Day Writing Challenge and I'm going to use the one from 30daychallengearchive. This is to help me improve my writing (because right now it's quite bad) so read at your own risk. All challenges will be tagged 30DWC.

My (personal) rules:
No planning. No thinking. No backtracking. Just write. 500 words everyday.

24 Dec 2015
Day 1: Select a book at random in the room.  Find a novel or short story, copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line of your new story. (I do. - The Fault In Our Stars)

I do.

I hear the trembling words. I can see nothing but blackness, feel nothing but blackness, hear nothing. Like I’m in an endless void. Trapped. Alone. 

“I-I…” I stammer, unwilling to sign away my soul. It senses my hesitation. It is unpleased. I can feel its breath on my neck. The light flicks of its tongue caressing my jugular as it hisses threateningly.

Say it.

“I-I-I d-do-o” I force out. Had my senses not been void, I would feel my tears. I can sense its joy at my surrender. I feel myself being lifted up, into uneven arms, as we descend down, down, down. I would be alarmed, but I had long ago lost my bearings of up or down, left or right, of above ground or otherwise.

What I can sense though, is the smell. The stench. Its stench. The smell of a hundred rotting corpses. The smell that now envelops me, surrounds me, traps me. I would feel nauseous, except my body isn’t quite what it was. I doubt I have the ability to feel nauseous.

My perfect bride.

It is said with so much conviction, it is almost violent. My trembling increases.

Come now. Soon you will be reborn and lose the silly emotion of fear.

I try to scream, but I can feel the absence of my mouth, or vocal chords. Instead, a warm feeling replaces the absent vibrations of sound in my windpipe. I try to scream, again and again, but the warmth increases the harder I try. It is painful. Like a raging fire that is spreading across my body.

Shh, shh. Calm down. You are hurting yourself. My bride has to be perfect.

I try to calm down but I can’t. I’m terrified. I’m losing feeling in my senses. The fire burns away my teeth, my lips, my nose, my eyes. Leaving nothing but an absence behind. My heart beats impossibly faster.

STOP IT. YOU ARE RUINING MY BRIDE.

I can’t I can’t, I metaphorically sob. I can feel my soul crying as the fire burns away my collarbone, my ribs, my breasts, my arms, my fingers. As the fire washes over them, they stiffen and harden and cease to exist to me. The harder my soul cries, the more unruly the fire, the more uneven I feel myself hardening. It is more painful than I’ve ever felt. I want to die, but I am already dead. 

Your outer covering is uneven. Flawed.

The fire spreads even more. I lose my torso, my hips, my thighs, my calves, my feet, my toes. All that’s left is a faint weight of a useless heart, and the crackling of cranial fluid as it solidifies around my brain.

Look what you’ve done. Another piece of trash. And you had so much potential to be my perfect bride.

I can sense it throwing my unjointed hard body into other hard bodies. We are all trapped in our own nothingness.

Now you’re just a mannequin.

Afterthoughts: It started out as some lizard-demon-bride ritual thing but ended up becoming a mannequin horror. 503 words. Story is inconsistent, especially the parts about the absence of senses. Oh, well. No horror tomorrow though. LET’S WRITE FLUFF.