Freedom. An obscure word. Simple in meaning, yet something unachievable. From birth, you are burdened with expectations. Initially, the expectations are simple: to laugh, to be healthy, and to be happy. Then you grow older, to be athletic, to be smart. Then, when you get to college, your focus shifts to money and status. Even relationships serve the purposes of providing, caring, and loving.
In essence, breaking out of one shackle leads to another. You are never truly free.
'I want to be free. No expectations. No burdens. No regrets. That's all I want. Is it too much to ask for?' These thoughts hover over me as I lie here.
I can feel the end approaching, the slowing beeps on the ECG monitor, as my heart falters, struggling with the weight of the past 89 years.
My life was a success. At least that would be what it seemed. I was the best at every sport, every form of entertainment, and every skill. That was me; I could learn in weeks what it took experts years.
That was my life: to stand at the top of the world, to receive the fame, fortune and envy of the people, from the people. From the moment I was born, I was a tool for my family, and like a fool, I accepted it; after all, "it was family.". A living machine was what I was.
But even the best machines break down.
As I lie here scrolling through this novel for the 6th time, I ponder what my life could have been. All my choices were never mine. Decisions manipulated as if I made them.
Why did I never reject?
It would have been futile after all; my role here was to perform for their expectations. I was the most perfect puppet, still controlled and helpless when cut down.
Was it a reason or an excuse?
Maybe the fault lay with me. I did have satisfaction taking down the fools with their precious egos. Defying what was deemed impossible. I did it.
Though, the satisfaction waned,. Their expressions of defeat and shock turned repetitive, a constant cycle.
One I couldn't leave.
I could break all expectations, shatter beliefs, all but my own.
When was the last time I was fulfilled?
Now I lie here, aimlessly scrolling. I had read thousands of novels, yet this one remained a favourite.
An average boy is expected to defy fate but fails to defy his first one. Truly unlike anything I have read, but I could feel a tinge of empathy, and that's what made me read it for the 6th time, even with my eidetic memory.
Unlike me, he did escape fate, and that was by failing, something I have yet to do.
As I lie here motionless, the world around me seems to darken, and the beeps slow and drift away.
I only now realise that I, Noah Grey, had failed.
I had failed myself.
The irony.
Most reminisce as their lives end, happy memories, special moments. All I could feel was regret and a silent rage seeping in.
How futile it all is. Why care now? What's the point? Why the question?
I stop and let death silence me.