Hello HF! Long-time lurker and newly reformed poster here...I first off want to just say Hi and thank all you guys for the great works and great ideas. This is what the internet is about. But anyways, I have had this story as a work in progress for a good while now. The principle was to tell a short quick story that would grab attention, create some sort of emotional connection with something most people take for granted, and perhaps throw in a little bit of my philosophy on man and the amazing things he has created without getting too preachy. I have most of the grammer and ideas nailed down. I am just not sure if it is correct in scope and structure - I don't want to get the reader lost in styling, but I do try to push the boundries of my particular writing style. So without further ado, welcome to the life of a Ceiling Fan. Critiques are welcomed and appreciated. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- I don't remember much. Mostly just blips and spurts of experience with the details left to be sorted and unscrambled. But with the few bits I have pieced together, it's enough to make me grateful. Grateful for each and every fragile moment I have been given. I don't have a lot; many will call my existence a manifestation of some sort of state of hell. Even still, I don't believe I'm cursed. Despite the enormous amount of pain and emptiness I have endured, there are still those glistening moments of bliss which pierce through the jumble in my head and illuminate my pitiful little existence. But perhaps a matter of history is in order. I have not always been this way. Like everything in this great universe - I was once a new creature. I was a thing of perfect form and beauty; my flesh a soft silky white, almost as if a passing cloud had been plucked from the sky and wrought into plastic and polpyphenane. I was the ultimate expression of simplicity and practicality - it was magnificent. Wrought from the remains of the long decomposed creatures of old, I was the factory-perfect picture of conveniance. Like the million brothers and sisters before me, I had been built for a life of service. Shipped and packaged as the harbinger of a brighter era in human history, I was designed for a plain unappreciated greatness. I was the great watchmen. Guarding against that horrible blackness that descends upon sundown. Cutting through those dry lifeless air particles; breathing artificial life into a stagnant dying existence. Yes, I had a great calling indeed. You may mock me, but the miracle of my form as a ceiling fan is nothing short of genius. You may ask, why should one listen to the dry memories of a forgotten and decaying piece of plastic and circutry. Despite my drab existence, I have experienced the entire gamut of those so called emotions which you humans prize so dearly. Ah, the thought of it brings me almost to fractionalization. What a deep slow rot, which eats one from the soul outward to the skin, this pain is. You cannot imagine what it is like to have your entire entity dissolved in a near tenth of a second. My entire form and sense of self is that of the Light Provider. I am the great crusader against nothingness. So vibrant and so full of that great glowing life-force. How can I help but share that essence with all around me. I vanquish that great nothingness with light and energy, filling the nonexistant with my own tiny little corner of existance. Nothing exists outside my fragile glass orb of light. I am the creator of my own slice of the world. Without me, your entirety would be engulfed in a twilight fog of despair. I have no lovers. No moments of genuine friendship. My thoughts, foaming bubbles in a see of merely being, can never be heard by anything outside of my own head. I will have no remarkers of my passing; none to mumble my name in flowing, thoughtless conversation. I shall have none of this - not even a footnote in an obscure autobiography to document my existence. Outside of me, and all that I see - I am nothing. But you see, I do exist. Despite all the many assumptions against the fact, I do have a soul. I do feel and think, and perhaps I might even love. You see, as a creature of servitude, my highest hope of purpose is to live and work within the presence of beings greater than I. Leeching onto the daily lives and struggles of those I overlook, I can only hope to gain some shred of meaning from their achievments. Perhaps by observing, and in a sense, making possible the lives and dramas of the creatures around me, then I can in some way feel as a co-creater of this great human struggle that has overtaken our planet. But to be abandoned, to be forgotten - that is the true betrayal. Deprived of the very thing I need most - to be needed - I fall under the currents of my own inadaquacy. Questioning the very foundation of my existence and only finding the blank static of buzzing radios and the feeling of age-old dust weighing upon my flesh - yes, this is true persecution. No greater a pain could I endure then this. To be so full of potential, so full of life, but with none to give all that I have. I am beyond neglected. I am the cries of a thousand lost souls, voiceboxes constricted by dust and rot and decay. Even if we could speak - who would hear us? We are the non-existant, we never really truly "were". Phantom apparations riding the curtails of history, only to be lost like a phrase unspoken and unremembered. Yes, this is our destiny - mere illusions in dark warehouses. A byproduct of a fire that burned far too fast and far too hot. If any of you ever read this account, then please know this. Despite the unitendended long-term effects of your actions, I forgive you. The actions done to me and upon me are mere grains of pain and blood. I am doomed to remain unremarked and entirely forgotten as I fade between the netherworld and the twilight moments of my being. All I ask, is that on some level, you know me and you regard me. You are the great magicians of this world. Gods of creation and form. Do not disregard us, your servants so lightly. We know you and love you. Please just do the same on some small, simple level, to us. My destiny is far gone spent. My life and the experiences that have dictated it are now far too befuddled to ever be truly unraveled. My life of servitude is far gone, yet I shall remain, a mere watcher of the rise and fall of things. Yes, I shall remain through the centuries, a decrepit testament to the creatures of the future of your great and sweeping power. And yes perhaps, of your even greater failure.
Lol how very true! Abandoned and forgotten no more it seems - Thanks to the good old HF Thanks for the read!
