The boy who sought clarity

There was a boy. He knew nothing of this life. Not his purpose, nor his rhyme. He did not know how to dance to the tune of life. All around him they were smiling, bodies mingled, swaying to the tune. 1, 2, 3, 4; 1, 2, 3, 4. Burning with rage and disgust at his very being, eyes bulging, he glared at all of them with a burning hatred. He turned and ran. Ran as far as he could. Ran until not a single soul was in sight. “Why!!!!!!! Why did I have to be born!” He cried with every molecule of breath he could muster from the depths of his lungs. Again he let out a furious cry. Crawled up in a ball, he lay on the cold asphalt, tears running down his cheek to his ear. He banged the side of his fist against the ground, bloodied. And then it hit him like a ton of bricks. His eyes lit up. A large grin crawled up his face, one that would put the Grinch who stole Christmas to shame. He leapt up off the ground, heart pumping with the strength of ten lions. Fists clenched. With great speed, he ran through the dim lit streets, following the sound of laughter, music and happiness. He knew it could be done and that no one else could do it. It was his purpose, the very reason he was brought to this existence. With such crystal clear clarity he had never before tasted, he stormed the streets with vigor and assurance that all would be fixed shortly. He knew the order of things and the way it should unfold. He knew. Oh what clarity! What peace of mind! His mind shining, he turned up to the party, filled with joy. He pulled it out. Click. “When the night has come, and the land is dark. And the moon is the only light we’ll see. No, I won’t be afraid, oh, I won’t be afraid.” Cried the boy who knew nothing of this life, nor his purpose nor his rhyme. Out of meaninglessness, purpose was born in the boy’s heart. And for that, others paid dearly, the highest price known to humankind.