Revolution

[Juno]

Alright, I've got part of a "replacement" post up. It's not done yet, but I just don't know where to go with it. I don't even know if the whole fishing thing is good. I NEED HELP.

The concept of time is something that is, in definition, scientific, not philosophical. We try to think of time as a philosophical entity, but truly, that is impossible, and therefore we must revert to the scientific intricacies of chronology, which is, in essence, the “science of time.” The scientists who analyze this topic are all convinced that time is scientific, which is a true fact, as has been stated.

But they are also convinced that time is of importance in the world, when truly, there are some people to which time means nothing. To a person, for example, who believes they have “all the time in the world,” time is simply a convenience, something that is there to give them a good measure of others’ lives. Time is also of little importance to someone who has isolated themselves from others for a long time. This is why time is considered in no decisions that Julius makes.

Isolation. Pure isolation was what Julius had become accustomed to. He did not live for anyone else—no longer did he live to please others. He did not care for others. His sister, his parents, his friends, any of his family—they meant nothing to him. He had grown used to solitude over the past six months, and being alone had become a safe haven for him. In his lonesome, no one could injure him. In his solitude, he could hurt no one. It was a Heaven for him to be in, to be alone. Isolation had truly been a blessing in disguise. In retrospect, it was probably one of the better decisions he’d made in life.

After he’d gotten Alice admitted to the hospital, he looked upon her mangled form and found himself in tears over something he had done. In the past, he’d always agreed with every decision he’d made. This time, he found hatred building up inside of him—self-hatred, that is. He wanted to die. But death wasn’t something that was calling him. Instead, a life where he could never make even the slightest indent on anyone else’s life beckoned him. And he answered the call gladly.

He’d called the wilderness of planet Earth home for almost six months now. It was his home, more than any other place had been in the past, and now he found himself living under his own rule, calling the wild to him—the woods answered him when he talked to them. He would go on for hours having a conversation with a large oak that towered over his fishing spot, and though he knew in the back of his mind that the oak could not hear him or comprehend his spoken thoughts, he found that just having someone—or, rather, something—to rant to was simply refreshing.

And that was where he found himself. Standing under the oak, carrying on a conversation that no human or alien alike would ever hear. The only organism that could even possibly listen to him speak was the tree. In his silent thoughts, his life was sad, unexciting, and perhaps even melancholy. But throughout the day, he found satisfaction; he found that living this life was something that made him happy.

But then he remembered that he was happy when he was traveling around with Alice. Maybe, he thought, Maybe happiness is what is killing me. Maybe I’m not supposed to be happy—after all, happy thoughts have always led to bad feelings later on. Bad feelings, bad occurrences, bad outcomes—you name it, the principal feeling that’s led up to them has been happiness. He pondered this for a second, and concluded that perhaps this was so, but he could not help how his emotions wanted to react to his rather boring, monotonous lifestyle.

“Happiness is a warm gun.”

His makeshift harpoon in his hand, the young man of nineteen stood at the ready, beckoning the fish closer with the bait. He could see the silhouette in the water, closing in, and then plunged the harpoon into the water. The very thin, scrawny spear just barely hit the fish, connecting with his ribs; but when Julius tried to pull it out, it would not come. It was stuck. And the large fish pulled, and Julius was jerked from the shore into the lake, the fish pulling him along by the harpoon.

The “battle” between the fish and he had just begun, though. Underneath the water, the fish jerked, trying to dislodge its new companion. “It’s your fault, fish,” Julius murmured, trying not to take in too much water as he taunted his enemy.

Meanwhile, Julius was working hard in an attempt to kill the fish. He swung his other hand around so that both of his fists were now closed around the harpoon, and attempted to plunge it deeper. The fish gurgled in pain, and blood erupted from his sides; the red liquid covered the human as it continued to tag along with the fish as it made its way deeper and deeper into the lake, trying to shake off its pursuer. But Julius would not give up so easily. The fish underestimated him, he assumed. As if the fish actually had the mind capacity to underestimate him.

“Come on, fish,” said the young man, “Just go a little bit faster.” And the fish listened. Stupidly, it obeyed the commands of Julius and sped up just enough, and now that the harpoon had been dislodged just enough for the boy to get a hold on it, he pushed himself forward quite violently and plunged the spear through the fish’s body, and the blade came emerging from his maw, spattering blood everywhere. That was it. The battle was over. The fish was dead.