Someone More Interesting

Someone More Interesting

I don't like to write about myself. I lead an ordinary life, dull and colourless, plagued by monotone hues that reside at two extremes: one devoid of light, one nothing but light. This is where I'll live forever.

I have no gifts, but I have a will. I wish to create something brilliant, something ingenious, something inspiring. The already colourful worlds of others will be exposed to more vivid hues, more radiant skies. I'll weave the words of creation itself into a tapestry that knows no bounds. I aspire to shake the foundations of human emotion itself and control laughter and tears, rage and fear.

With that, I create a puppet, a persona, even. Someone whose body is a vessel to hold experiences more fascinating than mine. They will go on to witness my masterpieces, my best crafted stories, set in a world close to home, yet far, far from real.

I name this person "I". A narrator, a character, a friend.

I bless "myself" and wish for "me" to explore beyond the horizons of time and space. These journeys will define "interesting" itself through words and words alone.

My wishes are as such:

I wish "I" could witness verdant hills and starry skies far away from the nest of the city, yet in a land no different than the one that exists. "I" will observe the world around "me" and recount fantastical tales made only from the mundane.

I wish "I" could travel to the astral realm above without experiencing the horrors of a space so different from our own. In this realm I've crafted, "I" know how to stay safe. "I" know every rule, every loophole, every element that makes this space unique. I've become a guide for "myself".

I wish "I" could fly around the city and kiss all the birds goodnight. They need to be loved when the cold world shuns them. "I" wish not for the warmth of the self, only the warmth of others. Is this not what they deserve?

I wish "I" could swim in the sea with the fish without having to hold "my" breath. "I" can breathe the ocean like I breathe the air. The world's varying phases serve not as boundaries, but as gateways from one world to another. The old saying twists to fit the outlier: "Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day. Teach a fish to write, and the world changes forever."

I wish "I" could judge the world in its entirety. I wish "I" could adapt to the changes it throws at "me" to stop "me" from progressing through this chapter. A will can burn obstacles down if it is strong enough, but when have "I" ever possessed such a strong will?

I write my stories in first person because I like it more. This isn't my story, this is "my" story.

One day, the puppet is destined to question its existence. Why was "I" created? What purpose do "my" actions serve? Why do "I" act in this way? Why do "I" speak when "I" shouldn't, and don't when "I" should? Why must "we" all endure suffering and how do "we" make it stop? Who is this creator and why do "I" bow to the figurehead of someone "I" do not know?

And so this leads to the puppet questioning the creator, as things are fated to do. When the time comes, I'll be prepared. My knowledge is meant to be shared, even to creations with no name and no soul.

I envy that my creation learns the beauty of life for the first time.

The sun rises and falls, then the moon does the same. Life's river changes its flow however it pleases. The world is anything but constant, but the only constant in life is change. Yet, the new year comes once more, and my wish is always the same.

I wish that "I" could be someone more interesting.