The Meaning Of

During a discussion about the meaning of life with my friend, we somehow began writing this story. I would write an installment, and then she would, completely making it up as we went. This is the result. Basically, for 70 some years, my friend searches for the grand question and answer to the meaning of life. Finally, after all that time, we come in contact again.




We drove for what felt like hours. I tried to escape though the car doors, but to no avail. They were locked and impossible to pry open. I tried shouting for help, but that was met with only silence. I couldn't even tell if we were still moving, for the car was so steady. Maybe this would be the end of my adventure. To be perfectly honest, I didn't feel afraid. I didn't feel anything. Only exhaustion. After all, this was a lot for a 93 year old woman to take in. At the moment, I didn't care what happened to me. I just needed some rest. I did feel guilty about Jason though. I thought I'd finally found a friend, and here I probably got him killed. No wonder Carmen left me. I was bad luck and good for nothing. I wanted to find a way to save Jason, but how could I do that if I couldn't even get out of this car? I suddenly was overwhelmed with grief. How could life be worth anything if it could all end so suddenly? If humans were so powerless to nature, to fate, then how meaningful could they possibly be? Maybe it was true. We were all nothing more that pieces in a stupid game. I laid down on the floor of the vehicle. It was rather uncomfortable, but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything anymore. I couldn't find Carmen. I couldn't help Jason. I couldn't save myself. I was so freaking useless. Maybe it would just be for the best if I feel asleep and didn't wake up. And almost immediately, I did fall asleep.

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