Fear of Fake– Short Story

Me? I’m in the corner.  I’m always in the corner.  Why my friend?  I don’t like fake.  Fake, imitation things and plastic people?  Nah, I’ll sit it out society– there’s a reason I never liked barbies.  Some people to me seem to be far worse than plastic– like paper as Margo Spiegelman put it (Paper Towns).  Do I agree?  Yeah, she’s so right.  You take a handful of society and observe them as I, a lonely sociopath at the age of 5– not to be confused with psychopath, have.  Far too many people in this pathetic world I live in aren’t even qualified to be plastic, they’re filled with numerous holes, easily blown away, rained on, stomped on, and fun fact, they don’t even bother changing, instead they put on that funny little act and pretend.  Pretend that everything is okay.  Pretend they know what is going to happen in their life.  PRETEND that nothing is going to bother them.  Such queer people.

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You know, when people say they care about you.  That you should trust them.  Isn’t it funny?  Only so few mean it out of the true kindness of their heart.  I’ve been pretty smart– saying away from the unpredictable fire, ebbing away, being fed by a mindless society of stereotypes and social norms.  Act like a loner and almost no one will try saving you.  As a matter of a fact, in elementary, who cared about that lonely kid sitting at the edge of the playground?  Literally 5 out of 500 actually bothered.  It’s also quite sad that I’m afraid of 4/5 of those who gave a cent for my thoughts.  Why?  Because I thought they showed signs of plastic, not quite paper, but still plastic.  Imagine someone getting to know you and you thinking that they are “cool.”  Just to realize three months later, you just don’t click together.  Somehow breaking it to the person who reached out to you and tried becoming your “friend” is a bit harder and more complicated than I like.

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A few more years down the road.  I made decisions regarding a social life.  Not necessarily by will, but because they were thrown straight into my face.  If I rejected proposals from certain people… well a group to be exact, I would look like a butt.  So, slowly, I integrated into a “social life” with actual people as friends, not just lingering guises of thoughts.  And you know what?  I found them.  People who weren’t paper or even plastic in my eyes.  People that I’ve grown to know, that I’ve learned to respect.  And you know what?  The trusting part of the fall wasn’t all that bad.  It felt actually felt good.

I’ve though so many times, have I fallen into a group of paper?  A trap of society?  My conclusion was no.  And still remains no.  I’ve waited and found myself “the group of solitude.”  A “happy place.”  And you know what?  I’ve gotten to the point where, if I am in a paper town, don’t call me back, don’t wake me up, and don’t try finding me.  Because you know what?  I am me.  I am content.  And I am definitely here to stay– somewhere that doesn’t feel plastic nor paper.  But real.  Freedom.  Me.

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A/N: Experimental blog/short story on… life? What was my true intent of writing?  Well… that’s for you to decide.  And yeah, I did my best to make it a bit pessimistic in the beginning.  But I guess you can say my main motivation was Paper Towns by John Green and just the little feathers of thought drifting in the wake of the limitless human consciousness.

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