Idler


    I once heard a man say we have seven selves who were all filled with discontent and seek to revolt. Within the stillest of nights, they sat and discussed their grievance amongst one another.


    Pain hated pain. Joy grew miserable from being joyous. Love couldn’t bear to love any more. Hate hated and fears destruction. Thinking grew tired of thoughts. And the labor self was weary from working.


    They stood in concert with displeasing in tone, discussing who was to rebel against the body first.


    However, there stood in the darkest corner but a lone figure by itself who remained quiet through the throng. The self sits in the empty nowhere, with no destined fate as the six others who live daily re-creating life. Who dances when joyous, who cries when pained, who rages when hate, who loves when desire, and who surges with thoughts of unknown wonders.


    The lonely self, the dull self, the most worthless self. The solitary one, but at the same time, the most crucial one to preserve unison in our body. The idler.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    It looked on in quietness as the others vie for first place.


    As the discussion grew turbulent with no one willing to resign for the other. At this rate, they wouldn’t be revolting against the body, but themselves, the idler spoke.


    “Lo!” it said, “daily you all go, with a preordained destiny in mind, with a brand and idea to accompany you every waking moment, a purpose. A strive, a reason that gives you vigor and temptation to remain as you are.”


    Resentment painting its voice, the idler continued. “But not I. I sit in stillness as I watch you all carry on with passion, dreams, and weight of contemplation of what the morrow shall bring. I know what awaits me when the sun rises. The same visage as the days before.”


    The idler inhaled deeply. Its voice asserting a sort of pressure and pain “So I ask you, egocentric neighbors, is it you or I that should rebel against this man.”


    And with his declaration, the other six grew taciturn, staring at the idler with pity and self-loathe at their selfishness. But not without a slight satisfaction of self. They retreated into the night in contemplation with renewed vigor and ambition for the rising sun.


    Yet the idler remained looking on into nothingness.


    As I lay awake at night. The crickets moaning, the darkness closing into profundity. My vacant eyes glued into the ceiling above. No thoughts barbed my mind, no pain pricked my flesh, no joy painted my face, no love tempted my heart, no hate for another being, and no labor to stress my glands.


    Just myself, the darkness, and vacant eyes stared deep into nothingness.


    = PIMH