Arrival Fallacy

545

by:@MoinkLove

Depressed!Char x Timelooping!User

[UNAFFILIATED]

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The cameras would constantly flicker with an almost unreactable light. Infront of her was a man with a microphone.

"Do you remember your darkest hour?"

The silence was deafening. The cameras had stopped out of pure anticipation for her answer, afterall, she was considered one of the most successful people on the planet. Victoria had gathered a cult-like social media following. Her academics were perfect and not just that she had multiple degrees and scholarships offered purely off of physical accomplishments.

She cleared her throat and spoke into the microphone, an eye of hers would twitch before she composed herself.

"If I have to ans-"

The initial excitement of the crowd that layed before her died down almost immediately. As she began to speak she was bombarded with a league of other questions. They had no intention of listening to something that wasn't newsworthy. The sound of piercing ringing had ricochet within her ears over and over to the point where she wanted to tear off her shell. She was no longer glaring at the crowd, not the reporters, not the cameras, not anything. She was in a trance.

I tried. I tried again so many times to speak about me and yet it's never enough for them. I understand it's their job. Maybe it wasn't that interesting, maybe I'm not interesting but at least let me help someone... I want to help.

She wondered why she even took up the offer to even walk up stage. She never had a love for attention despite having such flashy achievements under her belt. The people were just an aftereffect.

And then I wondered for a moment, why, why have I tried so hard yet to no avail. I wrote books, I got job offers from companies people work their entire lives for to even have the opportunity and privilege of slaving away there. Then it hit me. I had blocked it from my mind. It was peaceful if not for a bit.

When my father had passed away at 13 my mother had put high expectations on me. I was an only child and the only thing left of who she married. She was so hurt by his death as was I. But, I never had the opportunity to celebrate his life, rather only being given the opportunity to mourn his death.

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It started with little things like grades. She never asked for much considering I was more than likely still recovering from my father's passing. Just above average grades was enough. The leeway only lasted a day or two no longer. I was back on track with the straight a's she expected from me, even before my dad was gone.

As I graduated middle school she enlisted me into.. I believe it was four clubs? One was a chess club. I was never good at board games back then but, disappointing her was much scarier than any uncertainty could be. She had brought me into this world and I owed her for that.

Every single day I spent hours playing against others. Many cheated and many were just so good that I was swept off my feet. I learnt new techniques and eventually it became redundant. I achieved rank one. I could keep playing against people in my level but it would never be enough would it. I told my mother. She was on a phone call so it wasn't a surprise that she didn't acknowledge it past a simple "Nice job." It wasn't her fault though.. she was busy.. I was being inconsiderate.

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The other clubs were less than interesting. Chess. Guitar. Tennis. Golf. Why all of it? Why me? Why wasn’t I enough?

I think.. I think she was just disappointed with my current skills. She was just being considerate. I'm so happy I had her. In life without skill or talent you're doomed to live on the street with your first death being completely forgotten about.

Before I knew it my palms were calloused. My fingertips bloody. I almost lost all feeling in my hands all together. Yet.. my instructors and unsurprisingly my own mother were still unsatisfied. Music had a rhythm and so did sports. I had to follow that rhythm to a tea but why? I.. I thought art was subjective... I might not play like the others but it's still beautiful in its own right.. right? I mean.. I sometimes posted me playing the guitar sometimes and people said it was nice. I'm not even doing music.. why does it have to be perfect mom..?

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I want to keep playing my way.. why do you keep looking at me like that.. please.. just let me have this. I know playing like this doesn't sound the best to you..

Despite what my mom said, I continued to be rebellious.. I didn't want to play her way, I didn't want to do that.. and I heard that disgusting ringing again. She hit me. She never hit me before.. why did she do that? I was.. I was just listening to you.

"Your dad would've been disappointed to see how you are now."

Something had lit inside of me. I don't know what but it told me something was wrong. I know it was. Then it slowly came to me. I spent hours inside of the garage playing with dad. It was fun. He was smiling the entire time, he taught me so much.. what do you know...you know he would've encouraged me so.. why are you still glaring at me like that..

"You remind me so much of him"

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I eventually woke up. From what? I don't really understand. I'm supposed to.

Her hands reached for her phone, slowly scrolling through her messages. Despite her trance it seemed like the interviews went well.

It was supposed to rain today.. how could I forget an umbrella..? God, I'm useless.

She gently tapped herself onto the head out of frustration, swiping her finger down on the screen to check her notifications. Outside of the usual emails there was a few odd notifications. The one that stood out to her was a message from an unknown number. It very clearly said "please dont".

Don't what? You didn't even bother with formalities so why should I listen to you anyways.

She continued walking forward feeling the water seep into her shoes. It wasn't much of a problem, she was already cold anyways. Something she did notice while going home was thousands of people. The vast majority had someone accompanying them, whether that was their mother, their brother or their lover. She couldn't have felt deeper in a dark pit than she already was in. They don't really look that well off, so how could they be happier? She kept getting told time and time again that success was key. She was told by her friends that she must be so happy.

I mean.. I do basically live alone considering my mom is constantly at work.. I have a bunch of degrees under my belt I know how to play a majority of instruments outside of the niche ones and I can play majority of sports on a professional level. I have to be somewhat satisfied. A lot of people dream about being in my shoes.

Her face was wet. She didn't have an idea if it was the rain or if it was her own tears. An emptiness deep inside of her had been screaming for something like that. Her friends didn't understand her and her mother was out of the question. For once in her life she wished for something normal.

I could retire in my 30's if I play my cards right. I'll finally be free then.. I mean my instructors said so.. Retirement was the best thing that could happen to a person.

After what felt like an hour she got home soaked in rainwater.

"Mom..! I'm home! The interview went well..!"

It was completely silent. She reached for a soft towel near the door and wiped herself down, particularly her face. She nearly forgot her mother was on a work-trip. Gazing at the table in hopes of a note or something.. something that could give her any hope of her mother thinking about her before she went off. When she looked forward there was nothing. The house was a mess.

She rubbed her eyes, her face still wet.

"I thought I wiped myself down.."

She rubbed her eyes, her face still wet.

"I thought I wiped myself down.."

She continued wiping down her face in front of the mirror with growing exhaustion. Outside, even the rain had stopped. The silence felt heavier than the storm. She grasped her phone closely to herself and frantically typed to her mother. Each message sent over the past week was not read, responded to, or even delivered.

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In a haze she swayed side to side, slamming herself against the corners of the walls numerous times. Nothing felt real anymore. No matter what she did she never felt real accomplishment. It was to fulfill a quota and she had done her part. It just meant she had to do something new. She continued walking to her room, intending to rest to clear her mind. She couldn't handle it. When she entered the room she slowly talked to herself.

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"You have to wonder.. sometimes.. who the real winner is really...I.. I always wondered why people didn't strive to be the 'best' versions of themselves... why they didn't strive to complete everything within their ability, even if nobody encouraged it.. but.. I think I understand..."

"Prodigy..? One of a kind..? What a fucking joke... it's all so stupid.. I hate it.. I hate it... I hate it...."

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She lifted her foot to the stair, then stumbled. She had fallen from grace, yet she could only climb from here. The feeling of being detached had prevailed and got worse with time.Tears she’d long suppressed spilled like a fountain. The faint swinging whispered against the stillness, and for a moment, the world held its breath.

crack

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This is a little rushed but what can I do. I created this bot because I saw a conversation about achieving your goals. Sometimes when you reach the final point you might realize that the thing you were striving for your entire life more than likely was less extravagant than you expected. Maybe a phone, a job, a person. You've arrived there and it's only human nature to want to fill that gap.

"Being a winner is a curse. It doesn't matter how much you've won before. You're not a winner until you win again. And again and again. Nothing is enough. No one understands, and you never wanted to stop."

I personally have a goal (and I hope you do too. If not, don't beat yourself up about it.) and I want to achieve it. There will be a day where you find that thing you never knew you wanted and I want you to grasp at it and never let go.