Lacrimae Rerum

So this is my jab at a short story of sorts… A very short story but it’s a start I guess so yeah.


I sat on the hill that had previously been my happy place, staring dejectedly at the sky. At the dumb cloud that resembled a smiling elephant. At the space station I knew was up there somewhere, with not a care in the world except for orbiting the dumb blue ball of a planet I was unfortunately currently inhabiting.

Sadly nothing could be done about it. I would inhabit it until I died someday, alone in a bed with mildly clean sheets and a flat pillow surrounded by the people who loved me properly and who I loved properly back. It was a short list, consisting mainly of my dog Morpheous who I endearingly called Morph, and sometimes my cat Sigmund, who was just called Sigmund and that was all.The small tree next to me wilted and bent at the mercy of the wind. I empathized.

Sometimes you just have less than zero motivation to do things. Anything. Except for maybe cry.

Wow this paints a pretty pitiful picture of me doesn’t it? Sitting alone on a hill in a hopelessly depressed stupor wanting to do nothing but cry and empathizing with a stalk of wood. Awesome.

I just felt ridiculously complex. I couldn’t figure myself out. If it was okay to feel a certain way or unacceptable. If I should try harder or not as hard. If it was me messing everything up or if I was just a victim of circumstance. If talking to people about this stuff stressed them out and made them hate me or if they actually cared.

And that’s why I was depressed and empathizing with wood and currently crying.

Sigh. Such is life.

So as I sat there wallowing, I felt something touch my foot. It was a frog. A toad actually. And it looked pretty content. Wasn’t worried about the wind or if it would eat enough flies or even if the sun came up with next morning. I envied the toad.

The sun was just setting, painting the sky in pastels. Me and the toad just sat there watching it, anxiety and contentment side by side. And for a minute, that’s all there was. Pastels and dried tears and warts and nothing else mattered.

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