I drove every day to the tallest building in the center of town. Every day...

always easy to spot the redditor just look a the spacing, fucking rick and morty writers

I'm not saying the OP is masterful, but shouldn't you provide reasons for your opinion on the work? If anything, saying "xD gay" or "xD Reddit gtfo" is more "Reddit" than writing mediocre prose.

It was Halloween in my college town. Some people wore costumes to school that Friday. By eight o’clock the town would be drunk, scantily clad and empty.

A girl I know invited me to some party. I know she likes me. I like her to a certain extent. Best-case scenario; I fuck her once a week for a month or so. I didn’t want it to scale into anything though. It seemed a dumb thing to go through with.

I borrowed my grandpaw’s thirty-ott-six and drove up into the mountains to shoot a deer. Perhaps this would be the ultimate authentic experience: killing and consuming a large ungulate. Maybe I’d feel something again. Either way, it should be more real than some basement listening to some EDM music crowded with post-bros and heady kids. Or trying to fade into the backdrop of some brewery and talk to my climbing buddies about climate change.

The hunt, some primal shit. The hunter/hunted dichotomy. Laying in some meat for the winter. It was snowing at dawn.

At ten o’clock opening morning, four deer stepped out. I shot one.

you write like a braindead assclown. quit now.

happy, faggot?

first off your verb agreement is straight fucked
>By eight o’clock the town would be drunk, scantily clad and empty.
contradictory
>A girl...
horrible paragraph. houellebecq did this much better and years ago.
>thirty-ott-six
*aught
>the ultimate authentic experience
>some primal shit
cringed hard

overall a terrible piece. uninteresting. bad prose. why did it time-skip from evening to morning?

We loaded up mom’s old car. It was the biggest car we had. The next day, my entire life would change. I would venture towards a new place. A new life. A new set of challenges.

Or maybe nothing.

It was great saying good bye to every one. I felt like I had the attention and validation that I wanted my whole life. Part of building a new me meant leaving behind everything I had built socially. No more mother. No more illusion of father. The familiar face of brother and sister. The familiar face of the friends that I hated. The people who were physically interested in me were only a text message away when I felt like my emotions had to come out to play.

The van was loaded up. I had everything I would need.

I couldn’t sleep. It was just the night before everything was going to change and I was just trying to figure out what part of me made things feel like they were supposed to change. Every one else was so tethered in the past, holding on to what they were.

Nuking it all didn’t make sense to them. You can’t nuke what never really existed.

Every one only cares about themselves, even me.

It was the biggest test of my life.

It was no different than any other test. The subjects had been covered, the realm of topics had been clearly defined. There were no surprises.

It was only the biggest test of my life because it was today. In a few days, I would have another big test.

The test had various sections. Multiple choice. Fill in the blank. Free Response. Essay. Extra Credit.

I think I got most of the Multiple Choice right. A few were confusing. I don’t think the right answers were there.

Fill in the blank was pretty bad, desu. Shit went downhill fast. Lost a lot of momentum. It was clear that the content did not.

Free Response was terrible. Honestly could’ve just written jibberish.

Who knows wtf I wrote in the essay section of the test. Seriously, the teacher/grading entity must have thought I had a serious learning disability. Shit was terrible, went on very long about nothing. Very clearly had no mastery of the topic at hand.

My hand was sore from writing so furiously. I just hoped something notable would come out. Something that showed I was a human with listening/learning/writing skills. Something that made me feel like I had sat in that room for hours and hours for a reason. Like I did my homework. Like I naturally wanted to learn about the subject. Or maybe I was just smart enough to get by. Maybe I was just ‘me’ enough to get by.

I was the third person done. I figured it wasn’t worth it to just sit there and pretend to think. That would just be self-imposed misery.

I felt free when I walked out of the test. I walked across the campus.

Days later, I found out that I had failed the class.

I guess I’ll just take it again next semester/year/life. Or maybe just take another class. Maybe it would fall in line with my natural abilities and I wouldn’t have to try so hard. I wouldn’t feel fear. I wouldn’t panic. I would enjoy life because I would feel like a ‘master’ in the subject. It would be just close enough to define ‘me’ as ‘me.’

For now I’ll just keep walking.

I have no idea what I want to do. It was just a test. My parents never really asked about my grades. I thought I was better at school. I thought I was decent at test taking.

I’m hovering around being average.

A pretty girl walked by.

youtube.com/watch?v=rjxdSFj-nm0

Father, why is it that the man was mean to me?
Son, it is not your fault. It is the fault of man.
Pappy, why does what I feel hurt?
Young’n, you must not hurt, for that is what man wanted you to feel.

My father took me to the ice cream parlor after the baseball game. I had struck out 3 times and witnessed my dad cheering on the other kids on the team more loudly than his own. Instead, he looked into my eyes desperately, wanting me to get on base.

The pitcher pitched too fast. I was not mentally prepared to perform. Baseball was not life. It seemed silly to care about hitting the ball.

It was clear that father did not want to take me to get iced cream because I didn’t ‘deserve’ the iced cream. I didn’t get on base.

I had a good conversation with Steven, the benchwarmer. He was wondering why the free sodas were poured 1 hour before the game was over. Why couldn’t they just pour the sodas into the ice cups when upon ordering? It’s not like the volunteers had anything else to do.

Every one is just in a hurry to go somewhere else. They aren’t in the moment. If the rest of the moments in this life of mine were exactly like baseball, there certainly weren’t moments work immersing myself in. All I could do was hop from experience to experience, feeling everything and leaving with nothing.

Dad was in a hurry that day. He had left the moment long ago. He probably would’ve felt better about the moment if his son had hit at least a double (not even a home run was required). He still would’ve left the moment.

Father taught me that moments are what you make them. For yourself. Be unforgiving in the moment. Hurt people. Leave them behind. Love is only for you. Love is only what you want to believe about the connectivity of the world. Until you want that definition to change.

I stepped up to the plate with runners in scoring position. All I needed was a ground ball single.

I watched a ball pass over the plate.

Strike.

I watched another ball pass over the plate.

Two strikes.

Another ball passed over the plate. The umpire yelled, “Ball.”

It was clear he thought I sucked, and was giving me one more chance to not suck. The opposing coach, a super dad of the best player on the other team yelled out that the call was “horse shit.” He was right. He was seizing his moment, empowering his son. He probably drank lots of Miller Lite on weeknights.

I stepped out of the batter’s box. I looked into the stands where my dad was giving me a desperate look. He made a bat swinging motion: “Try to make contact!” Save face for your old man.

I had a feeling that if I swung, I would make contact. Something felt different. I felt confident. I could maybe make the moment more meaningful by making contact with the pitch. I could uplift my team. Uplift the spirits of my father. Uplift the spirits of my mother, my nuclear family by making contact with this pitch.

The pitcher wound up and delivered the pitch. He was really good at baseball.

I swung, hit nothing. The catcher even ‘tagged’ me after catching the ball to ensure I was out.

I walked back to the dugout. The coach told me that we would work on bunting next practice. I had failed, but it didn’t really hurt to fail the team. It just felt like I hurt my dad’s feelings, and I wasn’t sure why it mattered more to him than it did to me.

The next batter won the game for our team. The parents in the stands were very excited.

I lost the moment for my father.

Twenty or so years later, I learned that I was not an extension of the flawed, biased worldview of my parents, freeing myself from that experience as anything more than an overextended metaphor.

I looked into the mirror and told myself, “Fuck baseball. Baseball is fucking gay.”

youtube.com/watch?v=ht8Q4ZJFjtI

We stepped outside and said, “It’s so beautiful outside.”

In that moment, we were stunned. How could this have been outside the whole time? Had the temperature cooled? The sun came out? We had no clue how long this weather had existed. However, we were so pleasantly surprised that an outsider would have told us that we sounded stupid for reacting to the weather.

People had been talking about the weather for years.

We’d be inside, breathing air conditioning for so long that we had forgotten that outside even existed. After days, and weeks, and months, and years sitting in front of the computer in front of the Black Friday purchased screen.

There was just too much content. It was just time to go outside.

A squirrel stopped in front of me in front of a pretty flower. I took out my cell phone with a camera inside of it to take a photograph of it in order to broadcast it to the world.

I couldn’t approach the new world as being anything other than content that could be uploaded to the cloud.

I looked up at the sky and saw a cloud. It covered the sun.

We walked in the shade until the sun came out again. The weather was still nice. My significant other who my parents accepted thought we were entitled to such nice weather. He/she had a pep in his/her step as they put on their name brand sunglasses.

We eventually went back inside and realized there was no connection between the content and the real world.

I don’t want to live in the cloud any more. Every one in the cloud is lost.

You seem angry. I won't be your boyfriend, but we can cuddle when you are sad if that makes you feel better.

youtube.com/watch?v=EEDTDhjXlWk

It was odd to know that I was part of nothing. While I spent my whole life attempting to avoid conformity, it left me at a place where I truly had nothing. It is still ‘positive’ that I am not part of the mass of schlub culture. However, the realization that I have no community is alarming.

Even if I want to be part of something.
Even if I want to make the world a better place.
Even if I want to ‘network’ for my own self-gain.

I cannot be grounded in a ‘common good’ that I can validate because I am post-morality.
I am so tolerant that I tolerate intolerance.

I had grown up in a neighborhood. Attended a high school. Attended college. Worked for a reputable employer that promoted work-life balance. Lived in a building with other people living in it. Frequented bars. Been in relationships. Pursued friendships.

I was not community building. I was not at the center of my world. It was all just an exercise in the self. Moving forward. Uploading content to the cloud. Sending my ‘interests’ and parts of my ‘self’ into the internet, desperately trying to build community.

At times, I thought about pinning down a significant other. Eternally bonding myself to another person. Grounding ourselves in the irrational progress of a family in the context of a community. Bonding myself to other families.

There is no community.

Community means accepting broken constructs in education, urban development, suburban development and everything else that is worth thinking about.

I cannot be absorbed.

I’m floating outside the membrane of the misconstrued definition of ‘community.’

im not angry, i just felt like i had license to be a dick because i rewrote the entirety of OP's schlock for him

his excerpt was legitimately horrible though

youtube.com/watch?v=Mf7FWmBF2uE

When I was doing it, I had no idea what I was doing. If I had known what I was doing, I probably wouldn’t have done it.

The negative outcomes of what I was doing outweighed the positive outcomes. However, the ‘positive’ outcome of my inflated ego was what kept the project moving forward. It kept my life moving forward.

Here I am, stalled out. Knowing better. Knowing there’s no one out there and nothing out there.

Give me a way to rediscover naivety. A sure way of knowing that people needed anything more than yummy yummy calories!

youtube.com/watch?v=QXuJ1SXNyW4

Our bodies are fragile miracles.
It’s a miracle we can even feed ourselves.
Human communication is fruitless.
Venture into the world with the intention of being misunderstood
and never understanding anything or anyone.

These have been my vibes. Thank you for reading.

>When I’d go out at night, I’d see the tall building in the distance, hovering over the city. It was always watching me. It felt safe knowing that I could always find myself in relation to the building.

Wait so the building felt safe knowing that you could find yourself in relation to it?

I like how you create a thematic issue here by blurring the line between sentient objects and atrocious grammar. 2/10, re write

What kind of books have you been reading?
What kind of music have you been listening to?
What do you genuinely identify with?
What are your passions?

Agreed.

user, the building will fall. The man will fall.

who is "the man" ? the man at the bar ? "The Man" ? An unknown antagonist ? The protagonist ?

this story is gay

What book is that

What book is what?

Op

There is no book. It's microfiction.

Did you feel the vibe?
Then keep it alive.

>but shouldn't you provide reasons for your opinion on the work?

Why the fuck would I waste valuable insights on shit

If you felt the vibe, then keep it alive.