note: i wrote this quite some time ago, i just never thought of sharing my writing on here, but since my other project blew up a bit i thought of sharing this! no ai used whatsoever :) "Dead Man's Trail" Insecurity was a beast, waiting on its haunches in the glum shadows. Whispering vile words into all’s ears. What I quickly learnt to realize was that most people were deeply insecure about themselves. Most people wanted to be loved, as much as I had. It didn't surprise me. In an environment filled with teenage girls who wanted to look pretty and be adored, insecurity was as common as waxed legs. It was noticeable, in the ways they’d observe themselves on any reflective surface, at any time they were present. It wasn’t too obvious, the way their mouths would slightly grimace, the way their eyes would slightly narrow, the sheer disappointment radiating off of their faces. Hopeful that if they looked a certain way, society would magically give them the respect they deserved. Capable girls, throwing themselves away in order to fit a cruel standard. Drowning from the suffocating weight, losing their true souls underneath all the expectations. Everyone wishes to be beautiful. Likeable, too. The two went hand-in-hand, at least in our borderline dystopian society. Beautiful face? You’d definitely be equally as ravishing on the inside, don't worry! Or so they think. They all fall, one behind another, the finale hidden by the backs of desperate humans. Dominos, collapsing after one tiny push, the stumble which led to a downfall. They would call me highly observant, and intelligent, for being disassociated with going down the road commonly taken. I wasn’t anyone, or anything, special, however. I wasn't intelligent, or "too mature for my age", just because I had a lack of interest in social theater. Perhaps it was a sign of loneliness, or unhealthy detachment from the whole concept of socializing. Society loved to compartmentalize. Label people, and tell them to slow down their brains to fit the standard, instead of helping other people catch up and learn how the real world works. It surprised me that letting people fall face first onto the dirt of their mistakes was the new way of teaching. Every human being wishes they didn’t have to care about what others ponder. They all would sigh, exhausted by the theatrics, but continue up the steep, rocky hill, accepting that this path is the way to go. The way of life. The answer to it all. And so they march, up the rugged hill, rubbing their temples with absolute misery. But no, they shall continue this walk. This must be the way. This is the way. The road. The long, winding road which leads to fulfillment and joy for the rest of our short, materialistic lives. The ones who wander between the trees off the trail, the ones who ruminate over the purpose of life, are the ones who shall truly succeed. The ones who realize that ugliness is nature and nature is ugliness free themselves from all attachment towards the thoughts of others. Label your vanity as self-confidence, as wanting to look good for yourself. Drown in the honey of your own saccharine lies, and bury yourself deep into the copper-colored dirt. Maybe then, you will realize that none of this truly matters, except your true inner calling. The path with no leaves trampled, bare under the shaded trees. The answer which wasn’t an option. The story, which wasn’t written in language.
