Short story: Abstracta Y Alive X

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ShioAkino
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Short story: Abstracta Y Alive X

Post by ShioAkino »

Thought of writing a short-story. Nothing extravagant.
It's going to be divided in a few chapters.
Spoiler! :
There was this room with a table, a chair and bottle inside.

The other items placed in that room were not of great importance, so one could write them off as the strict necessary since this specific individual had no interests in material objects.

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I remember having seen a clock with its tongues 180 degrees apart. That was the time I stepped into that dim lit room. The computer was the sole source of light and even so, because of the relatively small screen, not much was to be seen.

I remember seeing a shadow projected by the side of a bottle. It was laying on the ground, both the bottle and its shadow.

The tongues were now only 90 degrees apart.

In the end, I did take the action I had planned and left the room with only a fingerprint on the doorknob. This individual wouldn’t be bothered to notice - I thought.

What action? Ah, nothing strange. I just moved the bottle from the right side of the chair to the left. Quite a boring conduct for a burglar such as myself.

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There is something I wish to understand

Isn’t it suffocating to be aware of something that can influence while ignoring the process of being influenced?

For all I’ve seen, people walk on the street without understanding the process of walking, they look at their surrounding without being aware of it and live their lives without putting any thought in the involved structure.

Humanity has abandoned the potential of abstracta, as a result of that, any human would readily throw anything away in order to hold onto that precious humanity.
A very important term pertaining to the materialistic existence that is sunk in humanity is “communitarian”. Proving something as communitarian can always, taking in consideration that the term is used to represent a majority, equal to justifying that something and allowing it to float on a sea of absolute righteousness.

The material world is statically concerned with this principle and its derivatives.

It would really be unclever of me to state something like this as a born human, for all humans are born empiricists, but what if there was a world akin to an embodiment of abstract terms?

Quite a laughable sentence it would be. A world held by abstract pillars cannot exist since, in that case, existence itself would have to become the opposite of what it used to be defined by, that being empiricism.

A theoretical pursuit for an existence that cannot be proved to exist will prove as impossible for all sorts of reasons that don’t even have to be spelled out. Still, I do have the freedom of theorizing.

“For example, I’ll take a fundamental existence from this empirical world and convert it into an abstract existence. A girl by the generic name of Erin will play that role.”

My voice slipped for a moment.

“Hello, my actual name is Kaho, but I’ll go by Erin for the sake of this experiment~”

“You’re not supposed to say anything! The character is hypothetical to begin with, so go find another place to play.”

“The rest of the class is busy and I’m bored~ Please, just let me play along. As a bonus, you won’t be looking like a weirdo who talks by himself inside an empty classroom.”

“I am not bothered by such trivialities. Either way, just take a seat and position your body in a less seducing posture. How is this not conflicting with your morals?”

“Hehe, you could also call me straightforward and courageous.”

“Imagine my mouth forming the sounds of that sentence. Can you?

“You’re depressing…”

Knowing that I won’t be able to continue my theoretical experiment without peace, I decided to get rid of the nuisance.

School was over, meaning that the entrance was full of trespassing people. I took a pen, opened the window and threw it with all my force towards the crowd. A scream then followed and made the atmosphere vibrate.

Buzzing people were looking around for the perpetrator while mending to the bleeding injury of the victim.

Kaho’s response was, as I had expected, nothing.

She’d later shield me by taking responsibility for my evil demeanor.

My intention was that of purely making her exit the classroom and me succeeding in doing that was connected with her unrequited love.

Now, there were some holes in what I imagined to have happened during these last ten minutes. The most important one being that Kaho/Erin didn’t exist.

I can vouch for the fact that she was not in the classroom with me, much less standing in a lecherous position.

The pen that I’ve sent flying did hit someone, and I know that the affected person did report the incident to a teacher.

What I don’t know is why no one came to look for suspicious figures. It was clear as day that the pen must have come from a high altitude.

Kaho/Erin might have shielded me after all. I can’t say that for sure and I can’t prove it, but if I name the process involved in me being saved from suspicion “Kaho/Erin”, and attribute humane adjectives to it, then I may be able to roughly shape the concept of a naive, abstract existence.

That little accident marked the beginning of Kaho becoming a matter of concernment.

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While researching various topics on the internet, I grabbed for my bottle of water. It was on the left side and not on the right. I always tend to forget the place of my belongings. It’s troubling me less and less now.

I stretched my back and flexed the wrists to relieve pressure. It was time for a break.

For six hours now, I gathered all sorts of information regarding a strange something that “reoccurred” to me while walking home from school.

The conversation with Kaho was not a construct of my make-believe - is what my memory tried to tell me.

Then again, a human who has discarded the principles of a material world such as myself would easily be influenced by his own imagination.

It’s strange to call this “a reoccurrence” in the first place because it did not happen.

I decided to word it as the result of a false stimulus. The rest of the night was spent reading a not so irrelevant piece of literature.
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