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A rather unorthodox short story, though I pray the reader can feel a glimmer of familiarity with the dilemma faced by the protagonist.

Do you ever get that feeling of clarity. Utter clarity that attempts to present a purpose in our society, attempts to give meaning to the meaningless. Clarity is limitless, and as I sit here succumbing to a state of delirium, a state where I am most vulnerable, only is it now that I feel the smallest glimpse of clarity in a world full of questions demanding to be answered. Though don’t get me wrong I know nothing of life nor the meaning to it, only my bitter representation which had only just come to me now in the form of a cheap strawberry wine. However I do know that tonight the moon is glowing and its brisk and it’s so alone and forever will be until the day it loses its flare and merges into the gloomed cloak of the sky. Yet that won't be tonight. And that’s something that I’m sure of. I know something that I shouldn’t, and I fear its doing me more harm than good. I was told to write it down, apparently it helps, and that’s why I’m here... though I don't see how it could. As its bringing the problems that confine themselves in my mind out into our ‘precious’ world for all eyes to read. Once more what I know is only my representation yet to me it’s as real as the sound of shattering glass, or as real as the way it feels to live a moment and know that you are truly alive. Now before my mind wonders more I feel slightly obliged to write about my moment of pure clarity, though I don’t expect the non-existent reader to understand me for he does not comprehend the complexity of my mind and the demure beating of my human heart. I look around me and to the moon and to the far distant city where no star could be seen because of the light burning into the sky. I grasped my pen and wrote only what came to mind.

‘In some ways we are interchangeable, yet in others we are not. I look to my left and see a man, only a man. Though what others may see is a father, a son, a lover, a fighter, a dreamer, an innovator a human being with a life of his own. A completely different life from mine. Yet after that life has been lived and he chokes on his last breath does he not succumb to the fate we all will eventually. A fate so unknown that any premise could be true. A fate we are all destined for. We are interchangeable.’

I couldn't write anymore, frankly it didn't even help, because why would the non-existent reader care for the wandering thoughts of a drunk boy. A crazy drunk boy at that. So I ended up just looking around some more. It really was beautiful up here, I felt like a secret king sitting upon my throne made from branches amongst the sways of overgrown grass and the most spectacular of wild flowers. It really was beautiful. And to top it off I had a view of the whole kingdom, the artificial city crowded by dreamers more weary than I. And though I don't claim to know the true meaning behind our lives I know it’s not that, that being men who live by the dollar. Honestly what good is a fake piece of gold when you are lying in your coffin. And still I know something that I shouldn’t, yet it no longer burdens me to think about it. It seems like a mere passing memory growing fainter as the days drift, or in my case since I began to write it down. So in fact I must divulge, it seems as though writing does help. I can’t help but continuously digress; I must focus on the meaning behind my drunken ramblings and tell the non-existent reader what I have learned this night for I feel my opinion has been that of a bigot. The sweat from my hands smudged the ink though I cared little, I began to write.

‘I find it true what I wrote before, that we are all interchangeable. However if that is so, does that mean we all have these moments of clarity, a sudden revelation where in that moment, just that moment everything seems real. My moment of clarity was the realization that we all interchangeable and our lives are futile. We become, we learn, we work, we pain, we die. But if thats true, then what keeps this thing inside me beating so fiercely. If life is just an impending trip to the void why does my heart beat faster when i'm looking at the person I love, or slow when I grieve. What is this spirit inside that wills me to become even when I see all pointless. I once knew something that I shouldn’t of, or perhaps it wasn’t really anything for now my perspective has changed and I really know nothing. I can only ask questions you see… because if life truly is futile then what am I and everyone else, because just like the moon I am here and I am glowing and I am alive.'

Earnestly Yours, The once non-existent writer.’