Society and the Trials of Man

Picture a moron. A barnacle on the underbelly of civilization, often paralized by the mere presence of simplicity. His curiosity seemingly without bounds, yet again engulfed by a confounding enigma. Standing there before him was a lone water fountain, vertically stout in its isolated insignificance. 

It’d been a very hot occasion that day. It appeared God himself had unleashed a wave of summer heat, wreaking havoc in its vicinity through unbearable exhaustion and  endless hours of pit stains and body odor. 

The man stood frozen, angered by the fountain, almost as if it was mocking him with its temptation. But, how could he sip from such an infantile institution? “A water fountain,” he said out loud to himself, “I’m an adult, I could just go to a store and buy water. Water fountains are just a state funded leech on taxpayers. I never use water fountains, hell I never even get thirsty enough to need them.” He ended his sentence with a slight hesitant crack in his voice, almost like he was trying to defend himself from potential judging passers by.

He scoffed awkwardly at the object, attemptedly belittling the metal contraption for the crime of merely existing. Yet despite this fact he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from something he seems to need to make it so clear he despises. His thirst seemed insaciable only amplified by the presence of readily available quenching, refreshing, delicious taste of room temperature hydrogen monoxide.

It calls to him, and he wants to indulge so badly to the conniving mechanism, but yet again hesitation sets it. Will he really betray his morals that easily? But it’s hot, a little sip wouldn’t hurt.

“A quick one.” He arched down 45 degrees before he started holding back tears.

All the while trembling  in embarrassment at the thought of any passersby judging his taboo hypocrisy. Once a firm and absolute 48 seconds had passed since he made the journey down he’d finally reached the base of the bowl, and after stumbling with the controls flinched when he noticed a stream of water targeted directly at him. 

In a panic he leaped forward  to try to catch the fluid before it could escape the reach of a man with nothing left to lose, however just as soon as it appears it seemingly vanished into the depths of the drainage casm. It had appeared during his leap at the stationary object he had let go of the operating mechanism. Before he could attempt a second try however he felt a wetness near his lower midsection. It had appeared in all the commotion and excitement the threadbare individual had somewhere along the journey gotten anxious to the point of soiling himself. The dread only worsened when he recognized a secondary sensation on the opposite side of his loose, baggy pinstripe trousers. 

Strangely however this revelation didn’t discourage him, it’s almost like he’s reached a point of some sort of equilibrium. Whether he’d be there all night, he was going to get refreshed. His courage now seemingly knew no bounds, he felt completely alien to the self he’d been just moments ago. With no hesitation he stuck his mouth completely on the dispensatory faucet, devouring the exit hole. 

His feeble hands holding the faucet like a scared child holds their mother. The fountain began operating  as a cataclysm of room temperature liquid breached the confines of the inanimate object, going directly into the windpipe of our brave soldier. Refreshing him, replenishing him, and quenching an insurmountable thirst unmatched by all of mankind before him as he trudged on into sensational relief from sociatal torture. 

“Hey! …”

Thus his short lived moment of bliss is silenced, as a sudden voice called to him. Not as a whisper or a yell but more of an indifferent beckon, meant to continue on into a sentence but fazed out of completion by its creator. The kind of  haunting yet hollow inflection that will dwell in his subconscious mind for years after.

 “What does he want?  Why disturb my triumphant rebellion? Who would stoop so low as to belittle me in my darkest hour?”

These thoughts spiralled  like a whirlpool of debauchery -yet as the words escaped his lips only sympathy could pass judgment on his persons. It’s as if, his time had come.

Jeffersonville High School, 2019