It's a pain. It's all pain. Life is a haze produced from a chemical reaction, passing us by.
The man read the words out loud to anyone who would care to listen. Here was his life, his sole being, running away as a shadow from the forgotten past. What is he? He no longer knows. The answers have eluded him for so long, and it seems as though they will never reveal themselves to him.
"This silence is disturbing me," the man said to himself, scratching his chin with a careless thought.
The man grabbed a bottle of old whiskey from a crumpled paper bag that lay on the floor beside him. The blanket of the night engulfed everything in the sky, followed by its compatriot, the moon. Oh, how the moon seems to mock him from a great distance.
"Pardon my asking, but how did you get all the way up there?" the man asked the sky after taking a gulp of the liquor. "That is in no safe distance from the ground. Mind you don't fall on us now, for you've done a great job at preventing so for a while."
The man looked at the ground and noticed an ant that struggled to carry the burden of food, the life-giving substance, and march it across the dirt. The man scrutinized the ant for all it was worth. He thought about how meaningless the ant's life was, carrying food to a colony which granted no recognition.
Raising his whiskey bottle in the air, the man took a mighty swig, "Poor ant. For all your troubles, you find no comfort in the seclusion of your own home. You and I are not so different. Only I can end your suffering, while you cannot do me such a fantastic favor."
With those words, the man motioned his hand down on to the floor and crushed the life out of the ant.
