THE APEX OF CYNICISM

Searcher had abandoned his search for meaning in the decaying cityscape, a world that thrived on excess and destruction. He became what he once feared--a drifter, who believed in nothing. His emotions were dulled, his purpose non-existent. He no longer asked why, he'd accepted that life was a virus and he now moved through it without resistance.
Searcher had climbed the ranks in a corrupt system, no longer a lost wanderer. He had found a niche, as a philosopher for hire, writing speeches and manifestos for men who sold illusions. His words shaped the minds of those who sought justification for their selfishness.
He didn't care who listened--politicians? Business moguls? Cult leaders? It didn't matter, they all wanted the same thing- an excuse to keep consuming and taking. He didn't believe in what he wrote but he didn't oppose it either..."LIFE IS A VIRUS, LET IT SPREAD".
He lived in a penthouse, the streets though, filled with ruin. Every night, riots broke out, people destroyed what they built in the morning and the world was fast devouring itself. Searcher stood at the window, drink in hand, watching it unfold and yet he felt nothing. Maybe this was all life was meant to be as a transmission played the news of a leader quoting his words, justifying war, justifying destruction. He smirked and said to himself: "So they're finally taking the virus theory seriously."
He attended a gathering of the intellectual elite: People drinking, laughing, wearing their cynucism like expensive suits. They talked about life like it's a game. A woman who knew his name and read his work approached him.
"You're the one who said life is a virus. That humanity is just decay wrapped in flesh." He nodded in reply and she smiled as the continued...
"I agree."
They exited together and by the morning, she was gone. Just like everything else in his life. A letter arrived at his door, a strange hand-written note, smudged with ink.
"If life is a virus, why are you still alive?" He read, freezing. No sender, no name, but the question hit him harder than anything before. For the first time in years, he felt a crack in his beliefs. If life really was just a virus, why was something inside him resisting this emptiness?

Author's Note

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