Dreambreaker : The extra from 2393

Chapter 1: My Initial Thoughts

So... got bored already? Have nothing better to read?

Hmm, figured.

Happens to all of us.

Me also. I also finished reading my favorite and now...now I don't have anything better to read.

I mean yeah.... There are several good s out there, bla bla bla, but... It's just not the same when you were so much invested into the story of your favorite ...and it ended.

Reading s could be a fun way to spend time.

Get lost from the mundane everyday life for sometime, forget all your worries and embark on the journey of fantasy magic...something which doesn't exist in our life.

It's fun to see the journey of a hero.

It's fun to see the said hero defeat the villain.

But it's even more fun to see our favorite hero, fall.

Cry. In pain. Writhing like a worm, begging, so that a miracle could save his loved ones.

Admit it.

We love to see the hero fail more than we love to see him win. Because it makes the hero more relatable to ourselves.

We love to see this said hero become the villain.

What? Don't want to admit it?

Fine.

But I admit it, I love to see that.

Hmm? You guys aren't like that?

Damn!

Maybe I'm the only weird one, huh? Hahaha.

Well, whatever, I guess I've always been weird.

But it's strange...

It's strange that the stories we read always revolve around a hero or a villain.

A heroine... A main character. Someone important.

It's like... The world is divided into two: good and evil.

Black and white.

The hero and the villain.

It's as if you HAVE to choose between the two, without any other option. Like the world was created just for them.

Others... don't matter that much.

Even that random nobody who was killed to fuel the fire of vengeance in our hero? Not very important.

That random nobody, the villain killed? Or that random nobody who happens to be the reason behind the back story of this said villain?

There are many random nobodies in the world of heroes and villains.

They are called by many names... NPCs, nobodies, civilians, victims... These victims could have been somebody's friend...

Somebody's mother, somebody's father, their sister, brother... doesn't matter.

Someone who was just a small speck in the grand scheme of things. Someone who was used for the GREATER good of the universe.

Almost pisses me off.

I call these random nobodies... as Extras.

You must have heard of the term, I suppose? There's the Author's POV, the 's extras... So many in this genre.

Extras are just like you. Yes, you, the reader. You are also a fucking extra, a random nobody.

A background character in the canvas of a beautiful picture.

You may be suffering in this canvas, this picture... but your suffering will be used to glorify the hero or the villain.

This story is about an extra, just like you.

He is nothing special. He is not smart or a genius or super manipulative, neither is he a stupid guy who believes in the power of friendship.

He is just a normal human, with normal emotions. Someone who is completely mundane and unattractive in every way.

I started writing this story during a very challenging period of my life.

At that point, writing became an escape from reality. Weeks passed, months passed, and nothing changed. I'm still writing, but nothing has changed. The seasons kept changing, the sun never stopped rising, the earth didn't stop its spin.

I don't know what I was hoping for...

But I did realize that it doesn't matter how I feel or what I feel; it's not going to have any consequences on the world. It wouldn't even matter if I dropped dead tomorrow; people would still enjoy their own lives. And so, after wasting my time doing nothing and wondering, I finally came to the conclusion that none of it actually matters.

Yes, one day it will all end, and I can invite that end nearer before the time comes, but it really doesn't matter.

It truly doesn't matter.

What? You think I'm pathetic?

*Smirks*

What about you?

Aren't you also pathetic?

Oh, don't tell me that you didn't know?

Hmm... Here's the thing. You are in denial.

Everything you did — driving to work, buying new clothes, playing games, donating to charities, falling in love, getting a gf(or a bf), getting married, going to war, having kids — what if all of that was just your distraction?

A distraction from the one guarantee we all have — our death. Denial of death.

You cannot accept the fact that you are helpless. That all of this means nothing. A cruel joke.

And so, we need a system to protect us from this cruel joke.

We need a suit of armor, a character to make ourselves feel safe from reality.

This is the origin story of every hero. Every culture, every society, every system, everything that you know of. A hero who can make you forget about death, so you can stamp a little bit of your identity into a symbol that transcends death.

Cultures, pop cultures, songs, games, TV series, your favorite anime, your fetishes, your favorite . A grand illusion. Even your morals, duties, and values. It's your character to match that hero of yours, whatever it is — being more religious, being more sigma, being a maniac, being a good social person, being a random nobody.

Whatever character you choose to live as is just an irony of how that said character was born from your fear of dying one day. In this race against death, of wanting to live a certain way by certain rules and ideologies you picked up throughout your lives, you forget to truly live.

It's fateful and ironic how the lie we need in order to live dooms us to a life that is never really ours.

Man only has three ways to grapple with this utter nonsense.

The cultural people, they immerse themselves in trivial matters - the monotonous routine of work, indulging in drinks with friends, and mindlessly squandering their leisure time.

The introvert, on the other hand, finds solace in the belief that they are somehow distinct from the rest of us.

They cherish their uniqueness, aware that expressing it to others would be futile, for they will never truly UNDERSTAND! They keep themselves at a distance from society, relishing in periods of solitude, pondering the very essence of their being. Touching themselves. It is in this seclusion that they nourish their sense of superiority, albeit subtly.

Lastly, there is the self-created man, the wannabe God, or the unapologetic hedonist - the one who plunges headfirst into life, driven by a voracious appetite for experiences. Bound by neither conventions nor restraints, they embrace existence with a fierce and insatiable intensity, as if possessed by a demonic fervor.

Well whatever...

I wonder why did I even wrote my initial thoughts?

Anyway, I have decided to at least finish this story before deciding about the existential crisis I've always felt.

Let's see how it goes...

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