The Human Condition

He was looking at him. Staring with that cold, calculating look. He recognised the looker, of course. He had just changed from that innocent boy he had once been, who had looked on, wide eyed, at the marvel that was his home, and at the rest of the Sol Armada, ranging from Mercury to Jupiter to Pluto. It was himself, looking through the mirror as if it was a secret gateway to the past. Yet, it was not today, and had not been yesterday, was probably not going to be tomorrow, although one never could be sure. All it told him was that his youth had been left far behind, another day had drifted away from his life, and that his wrinkles had become imperceptibly deeper overnight.

The bright, natural yet still undeniably artificial light high in the sky above them was being reflected off the top of the shiny, smooth ebony chess piece. The piece moved forward, controlled not by itself, but by a greater purpose, the purpose of its ruler, who like on every Saturday morning was about to defeat his archrival. The now victor, began to gloat over his win, a standard Saturday morning ritual. But the champion’s words fell on unhearing ears as he was still looking at the ebony piece, now standing beside the toppled enemy ruler. He was again realising, like on every Saturday morning that every human being was somewhere on that chess board. Some like the pawn not realising that they are there, and being controlled by another. Some like the king, and ruling over the life that the pawns had. But today something was different. He could feel a gnawing, nagging feeling, tugging like some small, but important animal at the furthest reaches of his creaking brain. He got up and slowly walked away, with an invisible weight or knowing crushing his body down. Crunch, crunch, crunch. He took step, after step, after step, along the gravel path, deeper into the forest, exactly like he had done after his wife had died.

He had sat there all day, and the great shaft of light set high in the sky, was dwindling and fading. Just like his life. He had to admit it, no matter how far the Human race went, and however long it lasted for, Humans would always remain another simple member of the Animal kingdom, and be bound by the cold, logical rules of biology and the universe. Eventually, your time ran out. It had taken him a long and painful time to realise it but when he did, he joined the ranks of the privileged, those who knew that, in a blink of an eyelid, they could cease to exist, and who therefore knew that they only had one chance to make the most of life. Few were ever truly privileged. You could tell if someone was or not. They were the ones who are always looking around, yet cloaked by the fact that they understood something that most others would never discover. The grass that he was sitting on was slowly turning grey with the ever diminishing light, apparently following the light into the quiet slumber of nothingness. The raised Roman lettering of the plaque against the nearest tree cast ever darkening and deepening shadows. The text was simple.