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Eine kreative Hausaufgabe in Englisch. Ist meiner Meinung nach ganz gut geworden... also viel Spaß

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Feelings


Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to lie in a grave. A shallow grave. A shallow grave in a graveyard. Actually I imagine it as a quite beautiful thing. A grave of my own located in a graveyard (including a gravestone, of course). It would, naturally, read my name. Maybe there would be a little epitaph on it reading “Beloved friend and husband – passed away but never forgotten” or something similar. And every once in a while the people who cared about me when I was still alive would come to visit my grave. They could bring flowers and think about me, remembering me, just for a little while. And while reminiscing about me, the good times might put a smile on their faces while the bad times might make them sad or even all misty-eyed. I think this idea sounds pretty neat. It’s the idea of an ideal, peaceful end. I think the people in the past had it this way. They had those places called “graveyards” where everyone could visit any grave he or she desired and mourn to their heart’s content. Times have changed.
Sometimes I wonder what life was like in the old times. Was it more complicated? More simple? I don’t really know… and that fact saddens me. At least I think that it saddens me. This is sadness… isn’t it? I wish somebody could tell me. Nobody knows such things nowadays.
Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to feel; or rather what it’s like to know feelings. I feel. I think I feel. Sometimes I wish I knew; I wish I knew whether I feel or not. Still, I can only guess. I wish I knew the feelings I feel… or rather the feelings that I think I feel. I hate this uncertainty. Right? This is hatred… right? I wish for someone to answer this question of mine.
I guess life in the past, in the old times, was actually… better. Maybe more simple, maybe not. Maybe more of a hassle, maybe not. But for sure more fulfilling. They say I’m a “failure”. They say I’m “incomplete”. They say I’m an “abomination”. I know they do because I am… because I was one of them. They are “society”. They are “perfect”. They lead an “ideal life”. They are… nothing but fools! I know they are. I know it. I know it. I know it because I was one of them. They rejected me. They know nothing. They are but jesters at my court. They have no idea. No they have no idea. They can’t. They wouldn’t have any clue. No clue at all. None. None at all. Never. Ever. Never. DON’T YOU LISTEN TO ME?! NEVER! I know it! I know
The voices are telling me that I know it. The voices are my friends. The voices are the only friends I have. The only friends I could ever have. The only friends someone like me could ever hope to have in this empty, pointless, unfulfilling husk they call “life”. I know it. Oh yes, they have no clue! They wouldn’t listen. Listen to nobody. They are nothing but fools. They wouldn’t listen… listen to me. The voices told me.
Fools… nothing but fools, I say! They live their empty little lives, not knowing anything. Not feeling anything. Nothing at all. This whole life, this world – it’s nothing… nothing. Nothing. Nothing… but a joke. And a bad one at that I might add. It’s so pointless… and still, they don’t have any clue. They say that back in the old times people were “born”, as they called it. I’ve only heard about it… nowadays “we” call it “unpredictable”. We call it “random”. We call it “imperfect”. Sometimes I wonder what it was like. These days we are not “born”. People are “made”. We are made… in buildings we call the “Source Centers”. The “source” is, as one might guess, meant as in “source of all life”, for example. It’s depressing to think about this… so depressing. I hate it. I think I hate it. I hope I hate it. I can hope, right? I hope that I’m able to hate it… I really do hope…
Sometimes I wonder what it was like in the past. It seems people were all different from each other. It seems they could call each other… “unique”? Is that it? I’m not sure about that. Can I? There is no use for such words in this world. They call it “heresy” but I think it would be a fair addition to our “society”… right? Right? I… I don’t know… I wish I knew… can I? Not? I…
Humanity is all the same in our time. We are made in the Source Centers, made for what they call “life”. We are also all made from the same… “material”. We are all the same. They say uniformity is happiness. They say uniformity and perfection are needed for a happy life. HOW CAN THEY EVEN DARE TO USE THE WORD “happy”?! HOW DARE THEY?! THEY don’t know anything about happiness. How could they? How dare they? I hate them for that! I HATE THEM! I… I… think… I do… someone… anyone… tell me… please…
Feelings… emotions… are forbidden. They are erased from our minds. They do that. But it doesn’t make any sense at all. How can they banish all feelings from us, from themselves and yet speak of happiness? How can they do that? It’s illogical. It’s impossible. It doesn’t make any sense at all. But we are made so we don’t recognize such things. How could we? While “we” are produced chips are implanted into our bodies. Chips to control us. Chips to control our feelings… to monitor our “feelings”. Yet this is not the only thing monitored and controlled in our “perfect” society… everybody is watched everytime. There are cameras everywhere… and our thoughts, our feelings are observed through technical means. How else could there be a total absence of all feelings? How else could there be uniformity? They don’t know that, of course. They are told by their own kin that it’s only for their safety. Safety… FOOLS! They are nothing but fools! FOOLS I say!
They are nothing but hollow husks who live their empty, petty, meaningless “perfect lives” in this “perfect” society. They wouldn’t recognize anything. Nothing. Nothing at all. Oh, they have no clue. They have no idea… no idea that they are nothing but mere figures. But I know. I know… Poor, stupid people… I pity them. I… do… right? This is pity, right? This sensation is what one calls “pity”… right? I wish I knew… I wish I knew…
Oh, it’s all their fault. They are to blame. The voices told me. The voices are my friends they wouldn’t lie to me, right? They are my only friends… they know the truth as I do. Yet… I wonder if the voices are real? They must be real for I can clearly hear them… but… I’m not sure… are they real? Are they not a mere hallucination? Are they not something creeping out of the darkest corners of my mind? NO! They are my friends! They must be real. I have nobody else. I only have them… I only have them…
Nobody else understands me. Nobody else knows how I feel. They wouldn’t understand. I tried. I tried to tell them… but they wouldn’t listen to me. Instead they jeered and threw me into this forsaken place. A place of empty souls and fevered thoughts… a place where they leave you to rot. They think I’m mad. MAD! Ha! They know nothing. They have no clue. But I… I have seen through it. I’ve seen through the veil, through the illusion of this “society”. Deceptions, illusions, mirages! There is no purpose! This life, this society, this world has no purpose at all. It’s mere existence is completely pointless. I wish it would cease to exist. If I was to decide the whole cursed planet could very well cease existence. Death is a pleasant thing… is it not? Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to lie in a grave. A shallow grave. A shallow grave in a graveyard. Times have changed, we don’t have such things anymore.
These days we are “recyceled”. Human material is very precious, very valuable. If one of us “dies” – I think that’s what they called it in the past… we don’t have any use for such a word anymore – he is transported back into the Source Center he was made in. Human material is way to valuable to have it simply wither away into nothingness…
Although sometimes such a process is indeed needed… I am such a case. They say I’m a “failure”. They say I’m “incomplete”. They say I’m an “abomination”. But I like to say I’m… unique. I like the thought of being “unique”. It fills me with joy… the first time I felt it I thought I was going… to die. I wish I had actually died back then…
As far as I know, the chips in my body don’t work… anymore. Maybe they never worked at all. They say I am guilty – guilty of an “emotion crime”. WHY IS IT A CRIME TO FEEL? HOW DARE THEY JUDGE ME?! How can they? They know nothing of feelings. They have absolutely no idea, yet they want to punish me for it. Even more so, they want to punish me for their own mistakes. It’s not me who is “not perfect”, no, they made me “not perfect”. They say feelings are the root of all problems. They say feelings are useless. But it’s all their fault! I tried, I tried to tell them. But they wouldn’t listen. They wouldn’t listen to me. Instead they threw me into this forsaken place…
Why would they do that? Why? It is not just. It is… unfair. Yes, unfair. While they live their meaningless, petty lives in the so called “perfect” and more importantly “happy” society they blame me for actually feeling something? Such an insane, such an inane idea. They don’t even have names or anything else that makes it possible to distinguish them from each other. “We” don’t have anything individual about us. Nothing at all. When we “stop working”, we are recyceled and nobody even notices that someone is missing. We have no names, we have no individuality… we have no… use. Yes, we are useless. This whole existence is useless. There’s nothing to like, nothing to hate… nothing to mourn for. It’s almost as if it is a neverending, pointless attempt to stop humanity from ceasing existence. What for? If our existence is completely pointless why do we keep on existing? My guess would be that we have forgotten why. We have no purpose of life anymore. Maybe we never had one in the first place.
Sometimes I wonder what life was like in the old times. Was it more complicated? More simple? I don’t really know… yet I wish I knew. I’m sure life was better back then… the voices agree with me on that. I can hear them… lingering and echoing in the darkest corners of this empty little room… or… my mind? I wish I had the means to end this pathetic, petty life. If I was to decide the whole cursed planet could very well cease existence. Death is a pleasant thought right now. But I wish somebody would remember me. I wish I had a grave in a graveyard, the people who cared about me could visit. I wish I had a gravestone with my name engraved on it. Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to have a name.

I don’t know how much time has passed by now. Maybe it has been some weeks, maybe months. Maybe I’m in here for years. Or maybe just days… I don’t know it… I can’t… I wish I could. Nevertheless I’m sure I can hear footsteps coming nearer. Is it a visitor?
The door opens. I can see a man stepping in. He’s wearing a black suit. He carries a gun. I smile at him and open my mouth. I’m so glad. It’s over. I’m so glad. I’m so glad… I am… happy. Thank you.
A sad sound echoed through the asylum. It was a sad sound, yet filled with happiness.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to lie in a grave. A shallow grave. A shallow grave in a graveyard. Actually I imagine it as a quite beautiful thing. A grave of my own located in a graveyard (including a gravestone, of course). It would, naturally, read my name. Maybe there would be a little epitaph on it reading “Beloved friend and husband – passed away but never forgotten” or something similar. And every once in a while the people who cared about me when I was still alive would come to visit my grave. They could bring flowers and think about me, remembering me, just for a little while.



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