respected him. And didn't it stand to reason that now that he was a threat, now that he had bared his fangs, would there not be others in the workplace who might now have a dagger for his back, too?
He tried to tell himself he was just doing what he needed to survive, but he also knew, deep down inside, that the feeling of acceptance he felt was not really real. He was just another cog in the machine, like anyone else.
They would not think twice of hurting him. No one still truly loved or cared for him. He started to realize that he felt more alone than ever.
Yet, he continued to push it aside. He tried to tell himself that was just the way things were and always would be. There were only two options: be a doormat and spend the rest of his life getting hurt, or be a lion and eviscerate with no mercy. He knew he had to be the latter. Yes, he had done the right thing.
He told himself this as he came home to his apartment that night and crashed on his bed. He WAS doing the necessary thing. He should not think about such things as the circumstances surrounding the lives of other people. Just on their actions and actions alone.
He turned over on his side and for reasons he could not quite fathom, he began to sob.
(11)
"You still feel the desire to be cared about. To be loved." the voice said as the young man continued his steady ascent.
"Who does not desire love?" the man said.
"You see, though, the truth about love is that it is actually a facade. 'Love' is merely a concept that humans created in order to convince themselves that the darkness in their hearts isn't as poisonous a cancer as it really is. Let me explain it to you. People claim to 'love' one another, but their love is always conditional.
“They 'love' those with whom they share common ground with, to whom they have similar worldviews, and sets of values, but not those on the outside with whom they do not share the same beliefs and values. Why do you think there is so much war and strife within the world?
“Oh, it is true, that there are many who claim to be philanthropic at heart, but what exactly is the true outcome of charity? The person who performs the act of charity is praised by others as a benevolent human being, and is subsequently showered with praise and respect. Maybe the person in their heart really does believe that they are a good person, that they truly hold goodwill towards the people they're helping. The truth is, however, that they are only helping others for the sense of pride it will give to them.
“This is not love, but a form of evil. Therefore, there is truly nowhere within the human heart where unconditional kindness exists. If people treat you kindly, for example, it's merely for what they can get for themselves. They would just as soon spit on you the very next day as they would in trying to help you today.
“This is the sad, sick truth of the human condition. I have been to and fro all over the Earth, and I have witnessed these things so many times until it made me sick!"
"So, even if someone were to take pity on me, it would only be so they could make themselves feel good?"
"Precisely! You have done charitable works in your past, too. Think about how you really felt. Did it not make you feel good those few times you did something nice and selfless for someone else? Of course! It gave you attention and love and admiration, whether from the person you were helping, or those around who got to witness your act of kindness. But did you really give much of a rip about those people? Or, were you just in it for what you could get for yourself? Something to quell the inner pain inside of you, even if for just a short while?"
The more he thought about the words the voice was speaking, the more the things it was saying began to make sense. So, there was no true love in the world? No hope for him to ever be happy?
"What must I do to be happy, then?" was the burning question he could not bring himself to not ask.
"There is no true happiness in the world! Just the pleasure you can receive for yourself for what very little time you have in this world. Hardship and pain will always be just right around the corner. There is no one out in the world who is truly happy. They're only trying to convince themselves they're happy. Let me tell you, if you want true happiness, let go right now! Let yourself fall to the bottom and end it all! For to not feel is better than to go on living and continue feeling."
"I can't bring myself to do it! I still want to live! I still have hope that... that the words you say are not true!"
"I have seen my words proven true and true again over the course of thousands of years! You will try to go on, but you will feel pain for the rest of your life. Is the person who has everything actually happy? No! You have seen this to be true yourself."
"I still want to be loved!"
"No one will ever love you! Not in the way you want! If you desire to press on, the only hope you have is to take whatever pleasure you can get at the expense of others. It is dog eat dog up there. You must hold onto whatever shreds of happiness you can get your hands on and ruin anyone who tries to take it away from you."
The young man didn't want to continue this conversation anymore. The words the voice said, they were making too much sense. It was like he was being provided clarity for the first time in his life.
However, he desperately wanted the voice's words to be untrue. If they were true, then he knew then that getting to the top was pointless. There would be no hope. No love. No reason for a future. He started thinking about the bottom of the pit. All he had to do was let go. It was a long drop to the bottom, but down there, there would be no more pain. He was incredibly disturbed at the things he was now thinking.
He also realized that at this point he could no longer smell the death stench that much either. Oh, it was still there, but he no longer felt the need to vomit anymore. As a matter of fact, he started to feel weird about the fact that he was starting to like the smell. It didn't smell quite so bad anymore. It was actually starting to smell kind of sweet...
Christian was back to two jobs again. The hope he had felt from that role in the major Hollywood film had dwindled away. It hadn't done so well in the box office, and it was not nearly enough to get his face out there anyways. He was getting no callbacks. He felt like he was all the way back to square one.
This is what his life was. The cycle was forever unchanging. Any hope he ever thought he had that might get him to where he wanted to go never lasted long.
He only kept going on because deep down he still felt that maybe there was a chance. After all, wasn't it really just luck of the draw? It was like playing the lottery. Maybe if he simply kept playing, at some point he would get lucky and acquire everything he wanted.
But he felt trapped. He had no happiness. He felt more each day like he would rather die than continue on in this endless prison. Trapped day by day, everything the same, nothing ever changing, nothing he wanted out of life ever panning out for him...
(12)
He slipped. He had let out a startled cry when it happened.
Careless, how could he have been so careless?
To his horror, as he had started getting closer to the top, the rocks had started getting wet and became very slippery. It had gotten really hard to keep a good grip or footing. He had tried to be really careful, but he hadn't been careful enough.
His foot had given out from underneath him, and he had slammed into the wall in front of him, slipping down as the rocks tore through his skin, blood flowing out of his open wounds.
He nearly lost contact with the wall completely, but in his panic, his will to live overtook his mind. He reached out as he was falling and was able to get a good grip on one of the rocks. Carefully, he adjusted his grip and footing. He looked up. The exit had gotten significantly further away again. He felt like beating himself over the head. He had been so close! Now he would have a much longer climb!
His arm had a deep gash torn into it. Blood trickled out of it and into the blackness of the pit below. He could feel blood flowing down from the left side of his face. His shirt was torn in several places, and he could feel
sharp pains coming from his chest. There were also wounds on his legs.
He mentally cursed himself. Now he was injured, and he had to start the long climb again. He was feeling lightheaded, too, probably due to the loss of blood. He felt hopeless now. How was he supposed to pull himself up with an injured arm and a wounded body, while on the verge of passing out? Maybe he ought to just let go...
But he wouldn't let himself do that just yet. With a sharp cry of pain, he willed himself to push himself up and start climbing again.
Christian sat on the park bench, sketching the scene before him vigorously. It had been a very long time since he had drawn anything. When he had been much younger, he had been heavily into drawing, painting, and anything of the kind. Anything artistic. He had indulged himself quite a bit as a kid. His family told him he was really good, but he never really took that to heart. Those were the things your family was supposed to say about everything you did growing up, after all.
He remembered that when he was younger, he had really wanted to grow up to be a painter. It had been his dream for a long time. But when he would paint, he would compare himself to all the greats that he looked up to, and nothing he ever did felt like it was good enough. He didn't feel he had what it took. So he had kind of just dropped it and given up.
Today had been his day
The Pit Page 6