Monday, September 18, 2006

The story of Ernest

Coming from a midst of a dark tunnel in creativity, Ernest has suddenly seen the light of inspiration and got his fingers focused on putting the following phrase, as discussed by his right brain.
“Even the darkest hour cannot overshadow,
the majesty of a flower blooming,
boasting its beauty revealed,
inspiring poetry into minds,
*scratch, scratch, scratch*

And more annoying scratches were heard in the usual side of the wall, turning inspiration into blunder. The right minds shuts off with a sarcastic grin and Ernest is back into being in the blank, annoyed, and angered. The mouse is still alive and literally scratching. Everything was tried and none seemed to have worked to rid of the rat.
In one occasion, an organic rat poison was used. It was, unfortunately, so mild, that the rat ended up with a constipation. This has caused some of the worse foul smelling excrements inside the wall with its only vent towards the rat hole. This has worsened the whole state which now includes damages on furniture, half eaten food, noises, and organic excrement, which was known to be a possible ingredient of nerve gas.
In another occasion, sticky papers, and rat traps were used. It has, unfortunately, ended up annoying Ernest more, who gets his toe stuck in both items at night.
It seems like the rat is here to stay, unless Ernest finds a solution quick. He dives into his pile and finds a telephone. Before reaching for the phone book, to look for exterminators, he decides to call a random number instead, and hopes it is a pleasant and helpful person on the other side, with all the time to spare, and give him suggestions on how to catch a rat. By the way, he lives in the city, so a friendly person on the other side with a lot of time to spare might actually end up being a person with psychological disorders and finds some sort of amusement using knives and other household items on human flesh. They too, are waiting for a phone call this instant.
Ernest ended up calling the author of this story, who had to step back for a while and answer the phone.
Now that he is back and typing the story, this is what transpired in the conversation.
Ernest: Hi, this is…
Author: Ernest, living in apartment with a rat problem that is keeping you from your work…
Ernest: How did you… How did???
Author: I know that? Easy, I created you with my head…
Ernest: That is just plain strange, and would gladly appreciate it if you give me some time to compose myself (37.45 seconds later, my choice). You created me?
Author: You are repeating what you have heard, and I was loud and clear.
Ernest: Well then, how come the rat still exists?
Author: Because you unconsciously chose not to kill him.
Ernest: You do not seem like the person who created me, if you did, you would have known that I want him dead with all these attempts..
Author: That are all futile. You chose the weaker and organic rat poison, knowing in a way those things don’t work. You have unconsciously chosen locations in a disturbing distance from your ref, from which you pass by at night to get a glass of water, always forgetting your rat traps. You are fully aware that your rat did not get his food from the fridge, but instead, from the bigger crumbs of food that falls off your plate while you pass your time talking to strangers on the net, who, by the way, are not 23 year old women, but 45 year old gay ex-convicts, so you know.
Ernest: But why would I want to keep the rat alive?
Author: You are lonely, Ernest, and need a companion, that rat is an excuse to keep you busy and pass your time. Besides, you are terrible at writing, and need to blame someone for your loss of creativity, the best would be distraction. I know, that is how I wrote you for this story.
Ernest: So I suck because you chose me to?
Author: You have a purpose and your life is a lesson Ernest. As long as you live the story, there is something for others to discover.
Ernest: And if I chose to jump off the window now? For which I am ready to do if I know I can never be a good writer.
Author: You won’t. Not in this story, as I choose that you won’t. Even that phrase was created by me.
Ernest: If I want to prove you wrong?
Author: You may, if I decide to let you
Ernest: What about you?
Author: A writer, like you, who knows, maybe a wrong number might get me to my author, or to psychologically perverted murderers with silverware.
Ernest: Unless I can outsmart you
Author: You are limited to as much as I know, and I can choose not to make you as intelligent as me, but you have the potential. My intelligence again, would be in its same limits.
Ernest: Just like putting two mirrors in front of each other and flashing your
Author: hand in the middle, yes.
And as planned, Ernest puts down the phone, completely confused and disoriented by the phone call, for which even his questions were created by an author who might actually suffer from some split personality in creating this story.
Ernest goes back to his poetry, unfinished and disturbed. Who is to blame? At this point, who cares. In a way, all he can think of would be his purpose. And then regret, which, by the way, is one of the most useless emotions, causing self psychological, physical, and emotional damage over the past. But there is nothing much Ernest can do, as he was chosen not to be able to do anything.
Staring at the blank hole, the rat’s den, Ernest decides to wait for the rat, and probably observe him. There is nothing he can do but while his time away with his only visible companion in the room, now that chatting to 23 year old women does not seem to be so motivational. Some mysteries are best left unsolved, unless you have a better choice.

No comments: