Tin drum
#1 of Stories
I went through my albums and found an old psychedelic rock album. One of the songs has been playing on my head and I decided to write a story about it.
This is my first time writing a story in a looooooong time so the text is probably full of mistakes but I hope you enjoy anyway.
Tin drum
What is good life? How does one define good deeds? Are there such things as good and evil or is it just a matter of how we see things personally and how our society defines those things? Do we even think about the world independently? After all we are social animals. Our thoughts are heavily influenced by those around us, the media, how we are raised and of course how we are expected to see things. So can one say our minds are truly free, independent? Do we even have thoughts at all or are our mind just a function, an algorithm that our central nervous system produces? Are we real at all? If something is real it must have a mass and volume. But our nerve cells form an endless amount of different connections between each other. So does that mean that in theory our minds are touching the edge of reality? Do we have something special in everyone of us? Or maybe we are not so fancy as we think. The more advanced the form of life, the more stupid it is. We think we are so high and mighty but we cannot see that, in fact, we are destroying ourselves. They are saying we live in the most advanced, peaceful and moderate times in the history of the world. Are we really? Take a look at the world. Every day is a fucking chaos. We are closing to our own doom every day. The worst thing is that we don't even see it because we are being blunted by our own societies. We are fucking dying on the streets silently. Soon, it will be too late to turn the tiles but still we're not doing anything and when it is too late we still won't do anything. The we will just start blaming each other. We rape ourselves over and over again and then wonder why we cry. Fuck this motherfucking fuck, fuck, FUCK!
Mary couldn't control her mind as she walked on the not so crowded side walk. She had to stop several times to pull herself together. It was early afternoon so people were still busy at work. Only a handful of people had passed her on the street and they gave her a rather concerned look. Mary is a red fox. Her body is quite slim but she is still surprisingly strong. Her long dark brown hair flows against her upper back like cold spring stream where you can wash your face to wake up in winter mornings. She was wearing a light dress with flowers on it and on her right hand she had a white plastic bag.
Mary held her eyes closed. ''I promised myself I'd do this without a hassle. I promised I wouldn't cry.'' But the tears just kept on comin. She stopped in front of a single door, dug a set of keys from her pockets and showed one of the keys to the lock. With a faint rustle the door opened and she entered a dark hall. Layers and layers of dust had gathered on the floors and the colours of the wall were fainted over the years. It was not a surprise because not a single soul had stepped through that door in six years. The brown doormat was nearly recognizable under the dust. The shoe rack that was standing in the corner was empty. Faint rays penetrated through the drapes and made the small dust particles visible to naked eye. The whole place was off-putting and made you want to just turn around and never come back. It was not the place that was horrible but the memories of the place that surged through Marys head what made her want to leave. But she wouldn't do that. ''I've made my mind'' she thought.
The kitchen was as she recalled it to be, a small oak table with four chestnut coloured chairs. White stove, sink, cupboards, the whole deal. Mary walked to the living room. There were pictures of other foxes hanging on the wall. Mary went closer to the framed photos. One of the photos smiled gently back at her from a dark blue background. You could tell that the fox on the photo was an empathetic and loving being. She was Mary's mother. ''I'm sorry about all you had to go through'' Mary said. ''I'm glad you're not around anymore to see what the world has become. I'm glad that you don't have to see this.'' Mary walked to the next picture. The fox on the photo looked gloomy, tired and his eyes had a certain depth to them. Like he was looking straight to your soul. His fur was more dark than Mary's or her mother's. ''Jimmy'' she Mary said. ''I hope that you'll become something big. You will, I know it. You've always had a fire inside of you.'' Mary went to the last photo. It was another male fox. His fur had a brown shade. ''John. Please take care of Jimmy and Nancy. They are more precious than you than imagine.''
She left the living room and made her way to her old room. Slowly, she opened the door and stepped into the room. It was a small room. Yellow walls, a reading desk, a bed and two windows. Mary put down her bag, took a deep breath, and took a gasoline can out of it. She opened it and started to pour the liquid all over the walls and floor. She walked out of the room and continued to pour the gas to the floor. She made sure that she had poured the liquid all over the apartment and made her way to the living room.
''It's just like I thought it would be'' Mary though to herself. She was no longer crying and her breath had calmed down. There was no fear. There was no pain. She felt light and calm. There were no thoughts in her head. No ties to this world, no restrictions. The first time on her life, she felt completely free. She felt completely free when there was nothing on her life anymore. An old saying popped into her mind. ''When you lose everything in life, freedom is the only thing you've left with.'' She took a box of matches from her pocket. ''I've had enough.'' She took out a match and held it in her hands. ''It is time for me to walk away.'' Mary lighted the match and threw it on the floor. ''You can't restrain me.'' The whole house became a storm of fire.
''I am free.''