What do you think of the beginning of my story?
The Overman
“The fact of the matter is standard morality, at least in Western culture, is based upon the improvement of society as a whole, or the improvement of individuals, whether it be yourself or a fellow human.”
“Yes, but my point is everyone’s morals are different, be it a slight or drastic difference. My belief is that everything is subjective, which is why these drastic differences of morality, that are especially prevalent in other cultures, must be tolerated in order to improve, not only society, but the world.”
I listened intently as the two men discussed moral relativism through my car radio. I often preferred the sound of discussion than that of music while I drove, especially when the weather made visibility problematic. I found discussion kept me aware, constantly thinking, perhaps preventing any potential disasters. However, thinking in itself was a potential disaster. There were times I had been thinking in such great depth that I lost all perception of reality, almost as if I were daydreaming. Thinking, to me, is the equivalent of what music is to most people. It creates, for me, a sense of euphoria, placing me in a virtual world, and the topic being, in most cases, irrelevant to these results. There are many issues I think about and discuss, but if I were to pick out the most frequent occurring topic, it would be the meaning of life, something I’ve not yet discovered.
I was returning from a late night seminar in my History of Philosophy course. The rain fell rapidly from the sunless sky, blackened by the storm filled clouds. Every few seconds the thunder roared and the lightning illuminated the sky, creating a scene not unlike the flashing lights of a night club. Attending Brock University was an idea that regularly crossed my mind as a high school student. It was an idea that was also encouraged by my family. Any university, in fact, would have pleased them. Now that I am enrolled, however, life has been challenging, immensely demanding. The late nights of studying and writing has provided for me limited spare time, most of it spent working at the local department store. Not to mention the radical conversion of my social life that, I know for a fact, would devastate most people’s lives. Although it is the one adjustment that hasn’t completely overwhelmed me. Other than my family, I’ve never been extremely close to another person. I find it undesirable, difficult almost, to converse with the people I already know. Which is why I will leave the expansion of my social life to the days of my traveling, provided I get the opportunity. I am quite certain I will admire deeper the people of Europe than of North America.
I came to a stop sign. The storm wasn’t letting up, in fact it had become worse these last twenty minutes. I was tired, the seminar lasted about an hour and half. I checked my watch calculating in my head the approximate number of hours of sleep I would get tonight. It read eleven forty-three. I was only ten minutes from home so I figured I would sleep for a good ten hours tonight, seeing as I wasn’t required to wake up early the next morning. A rare event in my life, being able to sleep in, though I deserved it. The storm continued to gradually become worse, as if there were no limits to mother
2.
nature. The lightning appeared closer than ever, the thunder shook the earth beneath me, and the rain limited my range of sight to a mere five feet. I tried to use my knowledge of the road as a guide, because I knew if there was a turn up ahead, I wouldn’t be able to see
it. I don’t know if it was my lack of wisdom or fear, but I decided to remain at the same
speed of eighty kilometers per hour. My reasoning being, “the quicker I get home, the quicker this would be over.” Then, an enormous clash of thunder rattled my nineteen ninety-eight Nissan Maxima, sending a chill down my spine. The strike of lightning that followed, however, was devastating. The surrounding environment shone a bright white, temporarily blinding me. It was then, at my most vulnerable point, unable to see the turn up ahead, that I veered off the road into a ditch, rolling for what seemed to be an eternity. The bending and snapping of metal filled my ears and finally, after hitting a tree, the car came to a halting stop. With blood in my eyes, and freezing rain pelting my body, I lay in a car that was once twice the size, desperately gasping for breath. Then, suddenly, I feel something, something horrendous, something unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It was a feeling of resentment, of decadence if you will, which consumed my whole being, the affect governing my mind more than my body. As I lay there, on the hood of my car, knowing my life will soon end, I find my self reluctant to fight. I merely lay there waiting, waiting for death to take me. And then I remember. My curiosity and interest over-power my fear, as the last few seconds of my life fade away, I wonder, what will happen next?
Forgive me for the lack of paragraphs and indents and, if there are, any punctuation mistakes. This site is difficult to work with
Thanks
Honest….honestly









