Status: Frozen.
Black Sheep Syndrome
Than flowers on the boulevard
“The subway is somehow the most uncanny of the places to analyze the human species” realized Harold while he was, guess what, in the subway.
Long had he realized he was somehow different from the actual stereotype he would represent in that futile life of his.
The city was hostile to him, a repressor in his still not realized, but somehow simple objective: Exist. Not only to live, but to merely be real. He never existed. There were no records, no proof, no official contact with him. Harold was a ghost subjugated to society’s demand. Whenever it was convenient Harold wouldn’t exist any longer. He was their servant, their slave. An unconscious slavery would be the destiny of those who worked in the city, that hidden monster, manipulating each and everyone. Contrary to what many would say, the city was not a jungle of concrete; the city was not a place of freedom for Harold; the city was his punishment, and yet salvation. It was unavoidable for him. He had no family, no friends, and no place to go; he had to be a toll for the city, in order for him to survive.
They were all, of course, supposedly free. Except him. It became clear to him over time that he was somehow ill. Was he mentally ill perhaps? No, his illness was hidden down below his mind and his body. His illness did not reside in his soul, at least not in his agnostic point of view; his illness was related to his mere “existence”, as if somehow predestinated to happen. It was a illness no doctor could ever discover. It was not deadly, it had no symptoms nor anyone other infected person besides Harold; perhaps it didn’t even really exist for everyone. Maybe it was just a consequence of not being a human neither a robot.
“A syndrome.” Realized Harold, while the unstoppable noise of the subway filled his head. His teeth trusted in that green sour apple, as he would discreetly look at those around him and search for similarities between them. For him to understand what he was, he decided to eliminate what he wasn’t.
And so, in that almost ridiculous quest, he saw men grinning while constantly staring at younger girls, with small skirts, and silicone implants, a fashionable type which Harold classified as: “The apex of human dumbness. Perfectly aware she is desirable, she wears daring clothes and makes sensual poses in a subway and expects nobody to look at her, even though it is what she truly wants.” It was as times as these, Harold was proud not to be a human like these, stereotypes from the tip of their toes to the bottom of their futile souls. Some syndromes have positives sides, and Harold should come to realize that one of these days. Harold, blind to the painful true, searching, analyzing, gripping to every information as if it was crucial to his survival. Harold, the rebel, inside his mind, unaware that the city is not only oppressive and cruel; it is also omnipresent and knows everything; it read your mind, it felt your presence, your unknown syndrome and realized you were a piece who did not belong to such puzzle and needed to be obliterated. The city would not kill him; it would erase the rest of his existence in the city; he was no longer this necessary. The city is indeed a live organism and it did not need Harold; the city, with its scary presence would do the job. Harold, do not fear the city; it just wishes you well; it wishes us all well. Smile Harold, the city is watching you.
Long had he realized he was somehow different from the actual stereotype he would represent in that futile life of his.
The city was hostile to him, a repressor in his still not realized, but somehow simple objective: Exist. Not only to live, but to merely be real. He never existed. There were no records, no proof, no official contact with him. Harold was a ghost subjugated to society’s demand. Whenever it was convenient Harold wouldn’t exist any longer. He was their servant, their slave. An unconscious slavery would be the destiny of those who worked in the city, that hidden monster, manipulating each and everyone. Contrary to what many would say, the city was not a jungle of concrete; the city was not a place of freedom for Harold; the city was his punishment, and yet salvation. It was unavoidable for him. He had no family, no friends, and no place to go; he had to be a toll for the city, in order for him to survive.
They were all, of course, supposedly free. Except him. It became clear to him over time that he was somehow ill. Was he mentally ill perhaps? No, his illness was hidden down below his mind and his body. His illness did not reside in his soul, at least not in his agnostic point of view; his illness was related to his mere “existence”, as if somehow predestinated to happen. It was a illness no doctor could ever discover. It was not deadly, it had no symptoms nor anyone other infected person besides Harold; perhaps it didn’t even really exist for everyone. Maybe it was just a consequence of not being a human neither a robot.
“A syndrome.” Realized Harold, while the unstoppable noise of the subway filled his head. His teeth trusted in that green sour apple, as he would discreetly look at those around him and search for similarities between them. For him to understand what he was, he decided to eliminate what he wasn’t.
And so, in that almost ridiculous quest, he saw men grinning while constantly staring at younger girls, with small skirts, and silicone implants, a fashionable type which Harold classified as: “The apex of human dumbness. Perfectly aware she is desirable, she wears daring clothes and makes sensual poses in a subway and expects nobody to look at her, even though it is what she truly wants.” It was as times as these, Harold was proud not to be a human like these, stereotypes from the tip of their toes to the bottom of their futile souls. Some syndromes have positives sides, and Harold should come to realize that one of these days. Harold, blind to the painful true, searching, analyzing, gripping to every information as if it was crucial to his survival. Harold, the rebel, inside his mind, unaware that the city is not only oppressive and cruel; it is also omnipresent and knows everything; it read your mind, it felt your presence, your unknown syndrome and realized you were a piece who did not belong to such puzzle and needed to be obliterated. The city would not kill him; it would erase the rest of his existence in the city; he was no longer this necessary. The city is indeed a live organism and it did not need Harold; the city, with its scary presence would do the job. Harold, do not fear the city; it just wishes you well; it wishes us all well. Smile Harold, the city is watching you.