Nothing Matters

(flash fiction – 500 words)

Nothing Matters

I’ll try to explain but I doubt you’ll get it. The thing is there’s no point to anything. That’s what people don’t understand, that nothing matters. Nothing makes any difference. That’s why I want to do this, that’s why I have to do this, to show you, to make you understand.

Today is not special. It’s not my birthday or anything like that. People will try to explain, but they won’t get it, that’s the point, it doesn’t make any difference, there is nothing to get. We’re all worms grubbing through the earth, eating what comes our way and leaving our shit behind.

It’s sunny. My back is hot while I wait. I like that I’m alone, that nobody knows I am here, but then nobody cares, nobody really cares for anyone else. They pretend, they make noises like they care, but they don’t and I don’t. I don’t need their sympathy, their concerns, boring repetitive words. They go home and forget everything. But they won’t forget me now.

This is the most peaceful I have felt for years, maybe ever. There is nobody up here to tell me what to do, to look at me like I’m not one of them, like I’m not normal, a freak, an outsider, a waste of space, somebody they don’t want to acknowledge or talk to. Today I am truly alone

I have a counsellor. She talks to me. It’s her job. Then she goes home and forgets. She always has to read her notes when I’m there. I’m just a file, a collection of words on a piece of paper. If I tore up the paper and threw it in the bin I’d still be there, but she wouldn’t know who I was. She doesn’t hear what I say, only what she wants to hear, only what fits into the box she’s put me in.

There’s noise below me now. Not individual voices, but lots of voices. Random noise, it comes in waves, in ripples, up to where I am. It washes over me. The time is right. My time. I don’t hate anyone. I don’t know anyone well enough to hate them. I don’t want to know anyone that well, there’s no point.

Today is the day. I don’t why today. It just felt right when I got up. I knew. I dressed, checked myself in the mirror in the hall. My mum said goodbye.

The sun is really hot now, burning through my coat. The metal is cool against my finger. There’s no sweat on my palms, no excitement and no fear in me. I thought I might feel something, but I don’t.

I feel it smooth against my finger, a perfect fit as I pull carefully against it, testing the pressure, the resistance. The noise is louder than I expect, a clean noise, cracking my ear, mixing with the shouts below. If anyone had listened they would understand.

Published by Bruce Aiken

A maths and physics student who ran away to art college and has worked as a freelance creative ever since.

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