Intro: This was written during my first year of college. I wanted to write something and this is what I did. However, the story reached a point where I couldn’t make myself to continue with it. It ended up in me calling two of my friends and having a hearty discussion about it. Are we alive?
The sun was setting. It seemed to him that with the sunset, the final hopes of joy and life were going to go forever. It was not as if life was always kind to him. But life being kind or not was not his problem.
He walked slowly across the beach, golden in sight as if by Midas’ touch. Not a soul was in sight and he knew it would be so. It was his first time there and probably his last time too. He came there to collect his thoughts. His own thoughts only soothed by the calm voice of the waves.
He walked on. His body seemed a burden to his feet and his mind was an unsolved jigsaw puzzle. He would solve it today or never. Such was his decision.
Time was plenty as the quietness and the red sun seemed to slow down the time to almost a standstill. He at last found the place he was looking for. A stone, a single rock standing upright determined to be there until the end of days and not to be moved by anyone.
He slowly settled down by the side of it. He had brought with him a bottle of wine called the ‘vintage 726’. He had picked it upon his way just to contain himself if anything was to go absolutely out of control. He had heard enough to know that wine could wash away all the hurt in one’s mind. Of course, he had never tried it out till now. But if he was to, this would’ve been the best place to try it out.
He made himself comfy by the rock’s side. He wanted somehow to start his train of thoughts.
There was no rush. He watched the sun go down inch by inch, plunging the world into a realm of darkness.
Why? He thought. What is the purpose of all these things happening? Was it all a part of a predetermined or already written story? Then what is point in thinking things over? All that happens is bound to happen. So what am I doing?
As usual, a number of questions and zero answers. But he would not give up. He would not leave until he challenged his own very existence. This time, for once, he was determined not to give up.
“People were entitled to their beliefs and opinions. That doesn’t mean I have to be to theirs too, does it? Of course not. There is a purpose, a certain hidden force that drove me to this very spot, for this very purpose. I shall discover that.
If this was predetermined, then how come I can think it is predetermined? Do the characters in the stories of great authors ever think if they are only just creations doing and living according to the author’s whims? No they do not. But I wondered that. I have burdened myself with the doubt whether I am just a character in someone’s story”.
With this thought, he suddenly felt a tingling excitement. “Suppose I am just a character, then anything can happen now!”. Just as this thought crossed his mind, he heard a rumbling sound. At first it sounded like some trucks shifting on the beach, but then it started growing louder. The shiver came up through his spine.