A Figment of Man: Short Story

In the life of the material world, the dream is to strike it rich. But the pretty penny does not lend itself so easily, and those fortunate enough to own it subject themselves to an entirely new set of problems. As if nobody ever thinks further than the money in their pocket and the number in their bank account, pulling the curtain will reveal that the dream of riches remains a dream even in reality. This painful yet all too crucial lesson is best exemplified in the melancholic tale of an ordinary salaryman, who found himself out of his measure, and in quite a dilemma.

A scene unfolds in a grainy, and low-lit bathroom. A man stands in front of a sink with a grimace. Around him is an array of clothes, mostly emptied whisky bottles, and a sleek brown suitcase with its contents spilled out. On the sink, a rusty razor lays idly by his hand, contrasting the black mold building at the back of the faucet. Meanwhile, the stained mirror directly above the mold-ridden station looks to be in the middle of an interrogation. As the man comes back from a stupor, intelligible sentences begin to form.

“It started with that accursed thing,” the man said. “All it takes is one lucky morning to turn a life around, and my time has finally come. In this city, everyone plays the lotto, but few expect to win. At one point, it morphed into the routine like the morning cup of coffee, and not unlike the boldness of black, the striking realization of hitting the jackpot at first did not settle in. As soon as I felt the crisp tenderness of a newly printed dollar, I quit the 9 to 5, paid my debts, and went out for a night on the town. Those first days had magic in the air. The booze, the food, the women, it felt like I had waltzed into kinghood, and as if the streetlamps and desolate nighttime roads had welcomed me to my rightful kingdom, such feelings of importance never cast their shadow at the moment. Last week, however, I caught a glimpse.

Dizzying lights from the night prior, coupled with the ringing voices and long laughs from the bar, awoke me to a scantily clad stranger in bed. On better days, they had collected their belongings and disappeared before I could process the haze of last night’s intoxication. But the maze of monotony’s twist would drift my vision to the ceiling of my room as crowded thoughts ceased and one triumphed:

What now?

I’ve dined on every delectable and exotic dish there is to try. Smoked the smoothest tropical cigars, and shopped at the V&I, the city’s most luxurious department store. I’ve conquered the wishes that once seemed so distant that they’ve bordered on fiction. But the wall now standing before me shows no signs of penetrability. Perhaps I should leave it be, and take a trip somewhere with crystal clear waters and coral-yellow sand. Or visit a place of tall trees, snowfall, and scenic castles overlooking black forests and verdant valleys. Briefly considering it before, I could not outrun or out-travel my fate. The precious novelty and enchanting properties of those places would soon wither, and then I’d be completely out of my element — no familiarity whilst stuck in a strange land. And still, the idea of a tropical paradise or a rainy city with ancient origins seemed incredibly attractive, what else would be left to scour?”

In this sorry state of distress, the man had caught a glimpse of a small white rectangle on his dresser. Upon closer inspection, he recognized a photo of himself, clean-shaven and with a white button-up and red tie to match. After minutes of contemplation, he sat back on his bed before taking one last swig of whisky. Drinking enough to nearly clear the bottle, but not enough to leave it vacant. After all, he had work the next morning and did not wish to be late.

In a system where having riches is seen as the ultimate goal, it becomes the overarching meaning for many. But meaning built on material conditions is a recipe for disaster, as when those conditions are met, it fades away. Empty pleasures and quick highs are not life-long as the man had come to find, so the retreat back into what he already knew is an affront to a kind of meaning that stands outside of the cold material world.