One Man's Pursuit Pt. One

A rough short story written out of boredom.

The rusty tracks glimmered in the ancient sun, while travellers lost their composure facing the harsh elements. Women sighed in anxiety as their well-done, business-like hair flopped and flattened in the heat and humidity. Men ripped off their suit jackets as though they would not live to see tomorrow and expected some divine intervention to take place. Drops of sweat formed puddles around the travellers’ shoes, ruining the expensive Italian leather that paychecks were spent on in order to have a sense of demeanour.

As the train pulled up to the station at precisely 12:43, the travellers poured into the train and filled every possible seat. People wrestled to be near the vents that were blowing holy, soothing air to the dying troops of a mid-July afternoon.

Among this chaotic mess, a young man sat calm and quietly, ignoring the fact that his cheeks were crimson red and he was weary with heat. He was considered different from everyone else, but he never saw the point in conforming to be like other people. Mankind no longer took pleasure in tradition or culture, and was so concerned with mundane activities. Society had become a wasteland, and he wanted nothing to do with any uncivilized acts.

As the train began to pull away, he took out his newspaper from his black, Jansport backpack and made himself comfortable as he stared out the window for a few brief seconds, reminiscing about past experiences and what he might discover in the day ahead of him. As he sat pondering, he began to philosophize about the motion of the train moving along the tracks. The young man was always mesmerized by the synchrony of the train. As strange as it was for other people, it gave him a sense of adrenaline rush. He took pleasure in the fact that the train always moved perfectly along the tracks and was designed to allow hundreds of people to reach their destination, safely and comfortably.

As his thoughts died down, he turned away from the window and gave a soft chuckle over his whimsical thought. He opened his newspaper straight to the obituaries and began to comfort himself in hearing about the deaths of other people. Those who knew about this abnormal habit thought he was morbid and depressing, but though he could be, he also saw it as an encouragement to keep on living even when he obsessed over death. Something inside kept telling him he needed to keep on living. That somehow life was possible after death, and living life joyfully on earth was better than spending eternity in an abyss.

He read, and was heartened by the death of Mr. J.P. Andel who was said to be “the loving and gracious father of Betty and Clara, and the revered husband of Norma Andel”. What inspired the young man most was what it said at the bottom of the column: It should be written on his epitaph, “Lover and Servant of the Most High God”. The young man didn’t know what to think about this statement. It contradicted everything he believed in, yet the words poured into his heart and mind, burst a blood vessel of rational thought, and sent a tear dripping down his cheek. He could no longer keep his mind in perfect opposition and needed to clear his thoughts with a purely philosophical and empirical journal. He found logical comfort in the words of Thomas Kuhn, and although he didn’t believe his theories, he thought it would be the perfect way to ration any conception of God and metaphysical nonsense.

People slowly rippled off the train as it stopped at each station, and the young man could finally place his red old school Vans on the chair across from him. Comfort was the elixir of life for him. If he lived in the world all by himself, he would spend his days sitting in the grass, drinking coffee, and reading an academically challenging novel. He knew he could never have it his own way because he understood the fact that people had duties to uphold, making life a “zero-sum game”.

The train finally arrived at his destination, and he slowly lifted himself off the seat and meticulously made his way down the stairs of the train. He really had no reason to be where he was, but he enjoyed spending time in a new location, seeing people with all kinds of stories and backgrounds. Everyone seemed to be rushing off to some unknown place, but the young man found a seat inside the station, and watched people live their meaningless lives. He strongly believed life was purposeless - all his heroes had told him that subconsciously – but he hoped that today he could prove them wrong, and find the greatest scientific discovery of all time – life has purpose.

The young man was a philosopher. Philosophizing was what he did with his life - the only thing that already had meaning. He took philosophy in university and fell in love with all kinds of concepts and ancient philosophers. Rousseau was his hero. He idolized the man. Rousseau’s beliefs forced the young man to believe that the only way to become a genius was to live a life of solitude. It was uncanny, but it was how he lived his life since his second year of university.

After thinking for several minutes, he finally decided it was time to see images outside of the station. Absolute truth must be waiting out those doors. He was in pursuit of purpose. All he had to do was search for it. It was time for him to step out of his comfort zone, and walk around.