The Truth about Fiction

Nobody believed me. That was their first mistake.

Their second mistake? Asking me in the first place.

Why, do you ask? Well, I'm a bit of an outsider, and many people don't like listening to me. I must admit, I don't really have much of a filter, and when it comes to answering questions, like a computer, I'll give you the straight answer whether you like it or not.

So when they came up to me and asked me to help them, I was surprised, but gave them the truth nonetheless:

"The answer you seek is fabricated."

The follow-up questions were horrific. "What do you mean? Fabricated?" "What? Like as in it's not real?" "Is that a metaphor for something else?" "Like... the question isn't true? Or the answer isn't true?" "Is that a place? Do I need to go there to find the truth?" "Why can you just be clear with us?" "You're crazy, you know that, right?"

I will concede the last question made me admit I'm a little off-kilter, but the wisest people often are, aren't they? So that last question didn't bother me too much, since it was a more direct question, even if it was completely off-topic.

"I said what I said. The answer is fabricated."

Confusion reigned even more. It eventually trans-morphed into verbal chaos, one of which I wish I could close my ears as easily as I could close my eyes.

I tried to sneak past the crowd, but I was instantly greeted with someone with a face with big eyeballs, forehead raised, and mouth moving in ways I couldn't decipher. I'm sure there were words coming from them, but it got lost in the volume like a rat's fart during a hurricane. I put my hand up and nodded as to acknowledge their existence, and like trying to avoid an ant on the sidewalk, did my best to step-aside and move on with my life. More faces like the first one locked eyes with me, like a panoramic horror depiction of anger as a sculpture. I kept my head down as best I could, not to avoid eye contact, but to brace for the slew of soft objects hurling towards me. Why people put so much stock into what I said was beyond me.

I finally got cleared of the crowd, mainly because they started to turn on each other instead of me for a change. I was semi-relieved, mostly because the spotlight was finally off of me, but also to, in a cynical way, they were getting to see and experience first hand what it was like to be me on the other end. The only difference is that their abuse took the span of years. Here, it was happening in seconds.

I arrived back at my hut, already forgotten by the world. I pulled out my pipe, lit the tobacco that I stuffed with it, and sat back and awaited for nothing. Yes, nothing. Well, I guess not quite nothing, but awaiting for the next moment, which would be nothing. And nothing after that. And nothing after that. Until I die, and I am rid of this world.

I know what you're thinking. I must be some sort of atheist or nihilist or something like that. Not quite. It's not so much that I believe nothing exists or that nothing has meaning, but that we lack the ability to know what truly exists or what meaning there is. I am not so conceded that I believe everything that happens in the world around me is somehow to my benefit or pleasure. If anything, quite the opposite. Humankind throughout history has fought tooth and nail with the laws of nature to gain any sort of basic necessity, much less pleasure from it. The irony of modern-day society is that we find pleasure in natural, but had to destroy it in the first place to start appreciating it.

So when they asked me the simple, age-old question of "What is the meaning of life?", I gave them the answer that I've always had: That it isn't real. Whatever meaning we give ourselves isn't reflected in the slightest compared to what is around us in nature. However, our minds like to figure out great questions and mysteries, like some sort of gum-shoe hot on the case of a missing person. But reality, once we remove ourselves, the world keeps spinning and spinning and spinning and has no plans on stopping.

Sound a little cold-hearted, I know. Never said the truth was pretty. Never even claimed that the truth was anything beyond what it is. But the allure of the illusion that everything is here meant to serve us has poisoned our mindset to believe that *everything* has a purpose for us, which simply is not true. Sometimes, things just happen, and while they may lead to better things happen, that is merely the sequence of events, both by decisions made and unseen forces, such as the laws of physics or human emotional composition, lead to another result, so on and so forth. While it may *seem* beneficial, like a mouse in a maze, many "wrong" directions can eventually lead to the right direction. But that first mistake, out of countless mistakes, didn't directly contribute to finding the exit path. It just simply was a moment in time that lead to another moment.

Anyways, as I was telling with my story. I was sitting on my porch, expecting to be in solitude for as many years as I was before, I saw a silouette up the hill, slowly coming towards me. I got up from my chair to see better. It was a child, more specifically, a boy, who managed to follow me all the way here and now was only a handful of feet away from my doorstep.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"I don't agree." He said, promptly.

"Come again?"

"I don't agree with your answer." He said just as assured as the first time.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, but that doesn't change the answer." I turned around and sat back on my chair, expecting him to do the same, but walk in the opposite direction.

"I would like to talk about your answer."

I let out a smile to myself, thinking that this was cute. He wants to challenge me.

"Look, little boy, please understand that just because you don't like the answer, doesn't mean you can change it. No one out there liked the answer, but their yelling and emotion isn't enough to change it. It's just the way things are. It's best to accept it and move on."

He looked at me, puzzled. I was assuming he didn't understand.

"I would like to discuss it. I think the truth deserves to be discussed." He said.

I turned my head in agreement. "Yes, it does. But no one out there wants to discuss it, therefore, what is the point if they don't want to?"

"I do."

"Well, you're the exception."

"So are you."

Now I was the one confused. "How so?"

"Everyone knows of your reputation. Yet, in the desperate time of need, they called upon you, and you spoke to them. The ability to speak to as many people as you do is an exception. I know, because no one listens to me, because I'm just a boy."

"I'm listening to you."

"Again, you're the exception."

I nodded my head again in agreement. He continued.

"Truth is not enough if no one hears or if no one speaks. Truth can only be realized if at least one person speaks and one person hears."