Chapter 2: Chapter 1: Life for a Feeling-less Human is Boring

Let me ask you a question.

 

Do you ever feel as if there's a god—a very spiteful god, who, for some reason, always ruins your life? 

Let me elaborate; there are people in this world who suffer, there are people who live paycheck-to-paycheck, there are children who wonder if there will be food on the table for dinner and there are people who genuinely live a hard life—a miserable life.

I am not one of those people. I neither have to fight for every bite of food nor worry that I'll be sleeping on the street because I can't pay my rent. For anyone who looks at my life from the outside, it may seem like I'm living a great life. I go to a good school, I get good grades, I eat nice food, and for all literal purposes, my life is 'good'. 

However, the deeper one looks, the worse my life seems. 

Nonetheless, there's only a single person who knows how truly awful my life is,

and that person is me.

—well, maybe and you.

-

***

-

It was around 5:45 am.

I was awoken by the blaring sound of my alarm.

Just a little longer.

I reach across my bed, feeling all around the bedside table, covering my hand with dust and other residues on it. Eventually, my hand reaches the phone, vibrating erratically and I tap my finger all over, eventually hitting the snooze button.

The phone alarm begins blaring again.

Really, already?

This time I grab my phone and open it, flooding my eyes with a wave of burning light.

6:00 am.

I drag myself out of bed and walk over to the clothes that I had pulled out the night before. It had almost been a month since I last wore my long comforting green soccer socks. I put on my clothes, strapping the shin guards to my leg.

Third year's the charm...

I felt an immense feeling of despair as soon as I remember what had happened the prior year. I slowly began feeling literally sick, I felt like throwing up and my stomach tensed so hard I thought that there might've been a bird flying around inside.

I leaned against the wall as I supported myself from falling over.

I packed my bags for school that day and began making my way toward the living room. I made sure to knock on my father's door, signalling that it was time to drive me.

I pondered anxiously as I sat in the car.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep myself from shaking. It was like I was suffering from hypothermia. The closer we got to school, the more my symptoms grew.

Ah. I'm going to throw up.

I cover my mouth with all my strength. My breathing and heart rate were also rapidly rising. I could feel the suctioning on my hand as I frantically breathed in and out.

Why do I keep doing this to myself?

I tried taking in deep breaths. 1... 2... 3...

At this rate, I'm going to have a panic attack before I even get there.

I rip my hair down towards my face. The pensive pain was enough to clear my mind for a brief second.

Why did this always happen to me? I didn't get selected last year, it wasn't like I played at my full potential and just wasn't good enough. First of all, I played a lot worse than I have ever played in my entire life, second of all, despite my training for many different exercises, the coach seemed to have made weird variations which I did not expect.

But most of all, it was like the coach had given up on our entire year level. Almost all of the players were from one, two or even three year levels below us.

Investing for the future, are we now?

I looked out at the soccer field. My stomach tensed and sweat dribbled down my face.

My sister was playing in the highest girl leagues in the entire state and I couldn't even get into a worthless school team.

I got out of the car and began walking towards the seats beside the oval. I could feel my sports bag grazing against my knee as I made my way over. It was still barely dawn, there seemed to be a large black shadow cast over the entire field with a little circle of yellow light, not strong enough yet to penetrate the darkness.

No one else had arrived yet.

Of course, it was nearly thirty minutes before the designated time.

Why was I putting myself through this? Did someone say something inspirational to me when I was younger? Was someone telling me to not give up, telling me that I can do anything if I put my mind to it?

Of course not. I was the only person who was still pushing myself.

I am by all measures,

completely and utterly

alone.

The cold bitter wind blew against my legs. The chill was enough to make me get goosebumps. I made my way to a bench on the side of the oval. I put down my bag and rummaged through the various items I put inside. I pulled out my boots which I had placed in the bag. I probably could've just worn them from the get-go, removing the need for sneakers, but my craving for professionalism didn't allow it.

As I changed my shoes, I looked over at the road. There was a scarce stream of cars, probably for early morning work or something. I didn't care to think too much.

I sat alone on the cold dew-covered bench. It was a sad sight to behold, but one I was much too familiar with. I put in some earphones and hope that the music would somehow drown out all my sorrows and despair.

Eventually, almost twenty minutes later, someone else arrived. They were from the year level above so I didn't really talk to them. I awkwardly looked over at them as they type something on their phone. "Hey, are you here for the tryouts?" I asked.

"Yeah." It wasn't an enthusiastic response but it was enough to somewhat confirm that I was at the right place at the right time.

Slowly but surely, more and more people arrived. Many of them I could observe were already basically part of the squad. Several of them had been in the team for several years in a row, practically guaranteeing themselves a spot like some self-fulfilling cycle.

People huddled up in groups and chatted amongst themselves as they put on their gear. I also had a little group of my own. They weren't my closest friends but they were closer to me than they were to the other students.

Before long, the coaches also arrived, carrying big sacks of soccer balls and other training equipment. "Alright everyone, come over here so we can tick your names off." It was a relatively orderly roll call, there was the occasional awkward comedy skit pulled off by very unfunny upperclassmen but overall it went through relatively smoothly.

We all made our way onto the pitch and stretched our legs, preparing for the session.

It was not until nearly the end of the tryouts before I confirmed it. The world was against me. Nothing would ever go my way.

It was honestly impressive, how such misfortune could fall upon one person.

At the end of the day, not a single coach even asked for my name.

Oh well.

It was probably karma or something.

I wish I could run away from this world.

Ah, there's nothing I wish for more than for someone, maybe some god to be looking down at me. I want someone to see, someone to see my suffering, someone to see my pain, surely I'm not all alone.

Is anyone there?

-

***

-

Ah, I'm tired.

I could hear the subtle ringing of my alarm in the background.

Fuck, what time is it?

6:15 am.

Already...?

I pulled up my blanket. The cold air rushed in and I felt as if I had just jumped into an ice bath. My entire body quivered, I could feel the goosebumps rising all over my skin. My clothes, I need to get my clothes.

Putting on the white school shirt, the cold rough material sucked all of the heat from my body as I tucked it over my neck, pulling it down. I might as well have just worn a shirt made of ice instead, it would've been just as effective at warming me up.

Goddamit aren't clothes meant to make you warmer?

Eventually, I put on the rest of my uniform and began lethargically making my way out of my room. I opened my bedroom door and walked out into the hallway which was still practically pitch black. My eyes struggled to find anything to look at, it was so dark someone might have made the mistake that it was midnight.

After feeling the wall, I flicked on the hallway light and my eyes were viciously assaulted by the piercing rays of white that covered my vision.

Does life ever get better?

I don't understand, there's no point for me to be doing all this right?

Does everyone feel so miserable?

As I made my way toward the living room, I was greeted by a loud banging noise.

Fuck.

I jolted as a tense pain shot up from my toe.

I don't want to do this anymore.

~

"Hey Oliver, you're smart aren't you, how do you do this question?"

I looked down at the sheet of paper that the boy was showing me. It was a question from standard maths, or as most people called it, 'potato maths'. It was a pretty basic question, anyone with any knowledge of maths should be able to solve it.

"Uh, you have to get rid of the 'y' by finding it in terms of 'x' and then substituting it in."

"I don't get it."

I'm not sure how else I'm meant to explain it.

I grabbed a pen out of my blazer pocket and pulled his sheet of paper towards me. I clicked the pen and showed him my working out, step-by-step—with free verbal explanations on the side.

"Do you get it now?"

"Um..."

I see the issue here, there's too much to take in at once, if you don't have the fundamentals down, there's no way you'd be able to follow all of the steps.

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"I think it'd be better to ask the teacher, I'm not really that good at teaching."

"Oh, I just thought that you were smart."

That's not really how it works.

-

***

-

This was my chance.

Trials for the state team.

My entire life, I've been seemingly held back. I always thought my skills were good, no, I knew they were good. I was no less capable than any person in all the teams I'd been excluded from.

I eventually made up a little story to keep my mental state from collapsing.

There's this god, somewhere in the sky, who was stopping me at every turn whenever I wanted to progress further. It was this god who made my parents stop me from attending practice, it was this god who made the coaches turn away every time I did something impressive, it was this god who pushed me down every time I was at a trial for a higher team.

It was this spiteful god who hated the thought of me ever playing for a higher team or ever being able to show the world what I could achieve.

My entire life, I was always the best in the lowest team, yet, whenever it came to getting into a higher team, something, almost like a supernatural barrier blocked me.

My capabilities were probably good enough for me to be the best player in the best team.

Was this all a delusion of mine?

Had I fallen victim to the Dunning-Kruger effect?

No, that wasn't it.

I definitely was good enough, I knew it, deep in my heart.

I tried to hide this feeling of discontent,

I tried to pretend that being the best player in the worst team was good enough for me.

Of course, it wasn't.

I hated every moment.

Every time I saw someone in the highest teams at school, I would cringe. Not because I disliked them in particular, or even what they stood for. I hated how these supposedly inferior players would get into these higher teams. Why was I not one of them?

Why spiteful god,

why me?

I had finally managed to claw my way into the final selection of the state team. I closed the world off from my vision, from my heart.

This is everything.

I trained day and night. My mind was filled with nothing but this.

This was my last and only chance to have something to show for all of my hard work, for all the talent I believed I had.

We were split into two teams.

I was wearing a white bib, meaning I was still in the 'lower' section of the team. This didn't matter, however, because the orange bib team, the 'higher' section of the team did not have enough players to fill the squad.

Around half of the white bib team would make it into the final team.

The whistle blew.

I put in my everything, my heart, my soul, every last bit of energy I had left.

The whistle blew again, signifying the end of the match.

Everyone walked off, back into the change rooms. As I took a seat on the bench and began changing back into my normal clothes. It felt weird, however, I felt a sense of imposter syndrome in these change rooms. I felt as if I didn't belong here.

So many times, I was excluded from something like this, I never felt the feeling of being in a team that wasn't the bottom, a team that actually had some sort of selection of vetting.

It was weird, why had the spiteful god allowed me to get this far?

Why didn't they stop me during the first stage of the trial, the spiteful god usually would've ended my ill-founded hopes and dreams right there.

I packed my bags and began walking back towards the car. My father had come to pick me up, indifferent as always. Whenever I talked to them about my experiences, they would just say something like, "You just don't have the talent", or "You have bad genes, go study instead", at first, those words struck me like a silver bullet through the heart.

But nowadays, those words were just white noise amongst everything else. Deep down, I knew I had the talent, no one knew better than me how worthy I was.

Well, no one except this spiteful god, who was following me around, crushing my hopes.

But even deeper down, like the Mariana Trench of my heart. I couldn't help but ponder.

Maybe I was just delusional.

Maybe my ego and superiority complex had grown so wild that I felt as if no one was better than me.

Maybe I overestimated my abilities so much, that all reason had been blown out of my brain like a shotgun hitting a can.

But.

Hey, spiteful god, if you're there, can you tell me why you hate me so much? What did I do to you?

Won't you come and talk to me for once? Instead of sitting in the sky, shooting down all the opportunities for me to reach higher, all the opportunities to achieve my aspiration, all the opportunities for me to get what my heart truly desires? Why don't you come to talk it out with me?

I'm insane, aren't I?

I'm broken beyond repair.

What is wrong with me?

Making up an entire higher being just to justify my own lack of ability.

Sometimes I think I'm absolutely insolent.

I probably did train less than all these other people, I probably didn't have as much talent as these other people.

Oh, spiteful god, sometimes, very rarely, I feel as if there can be no other explanation, besides your existence.

But even more so, oh, spiteful god, I wish for your existence, however inconvenient it is to me.

Because the last thing I ever want to know is that I really just wasn't good enough.

~

The car was travelling at an awkward speed. My father had told me the engine had been sounding funny the last few days so he's been travelling slower than usual. I told him to fix the car like a normal person but he had been too busy procrastinating to do so.

I looked at the slight blur of trees and streetlights. It was pretty late at night, the trial had been going for over three hours. My father looked as if he was drunk, the subtle smell of alcohol was exaggerated by my sensitive nose after giving it everything I had just moments prior.

I brushed my hair upwards, clearing the puddle of sweat from my forehead. I tried not to touch my head on the headrest as it was damp from all the sweat. My entire body was moist, I could feel my back sticking to my shirt as I adjusted my posture.

I waited for a message on my phone. During this final trial, they would message everyone the outcome. I was honestly quite happy to even have the opportunity to give them my phone number, it felt, very subtly, like I was finally fitting in with those who were previously above me.

I tried to hold in my excitement, I had not yet made it, but I couldn't feel as I there was any other possibility, aside from me being accepted.

Stop.

I can't think like this.

If I keep building myself up with no foundations, I'll just crash and burn if I find out I wasn't actually accepted.

Deep breaths.

We gradually approached an intersection. I looked up and noticed that both sides of the lights seemed to be green. I was about to point this out before thinking that there wouldn't be any cars anyways. It was late and we had only passed about two cars the entire trip home. It was pretty dark so I might have just been seeing things because I was tired.

I looked down at my phone again.

No new messages.

My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. I had never been so tense before in my entire life.

?!?

It was right when I was attempting to relax when our entire car was sent spiralling into the side of the road.

!?!

It really hurt, like nothing ever before, I could register in my head that it was the worst pain in the entire world.

Then why did I feel weirdly numb?

The interior of the car was completely destroyed, it was like a piece of scrap metal. The airbags had deployed but that wasn't even close to enough to save our lives.

I could feel a warm liquid around parts of my body. It felt like someone poured some warm water onto my stomach.

Suddenly my phone beeped.

Despite the situation I was in, the only thing I thought about was the result of the trial. It was something like an otherworldly desire.

I didn't care about anything else.

I reached over to the phone. Suddenly, I felt as if all the pain had ceased, it was just me and the phone, my entire body was numb, it felt as if my arm wasn't even a part of my body anymore like I was remotely controlling it separately, with my mind.

Unfortunately, you were not selected to be a part of the 2027 state representative team.

Haha.

Like some very tragic allegory.

Hey, spiteful god, if you're there.

I know you don't really hate me.

!?

~

?!

One last wish, when I die, can you reincarnate me in another world?

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