"Sad Satire" by Jacob H

     There exists, within a tiny corner of the spacetime continuum, a small hypothetical universe. Within this hypothetical universe there lies a hypothetical galaxy housing a hypothetical solar system in which resides a hypothetical plant which will hereby be referred to as Fake Planet XI. On Fake Planet XI there lives a hypothetical boy, residing in a hypothetical house on a hypothetical street contained within several other hypothetical sublevels of organization whose importance is trivial and thus they will be excluded. This is the story of that boy.

     He awoke with a start in response to the violent assault on his ear drums. Recognizing his alarm, he peeled himself off of his sheets like the price tag from a regifted Christmas present. Dragging himself to the bathroom, he stared into the mirror as if hoping to see anything but his own reflection staring back at him. He hated seeing himself, it was a constant reminder of the infuriating mediocrity of his life. He was intelligent, well fed, blessed with a stable household in the middle class and yet something made it all seem so intolerable. After attempting to wash away a lifetime of sin with a scalding shower, the hypothetical boy eventually accepted his life and moved to dress himself for the six hour purgatory called “school.” He knew, however, as he plopped himself down into his office chair that he hated himself, he hated the fact that he was intelligent enough to see that the world around him had gone to hell in a handbasket but not intelligent enough to do a damn thing about it, he hated the fact that he was surrounded by so much stupidity and worthlessness that he was forced to reevaluate his own self worth to be just high enough to keep suicide out of the question. It was at this point that he stopped, stopped and thought for a moment about his situation. He realized that Fake Planet XI was a world where inconsistent outpourings of emotions were not enough. A world where anything not intentionally, explicitly, and overbearingly shoved down the throats of humanity was simply swallowed by the infinite stupidity of the world in which the hypothetical boy lived. In a fit of passion he swiveled dramatically in his chair and, fingers flying on his keyboard, typed out four words in, of course, Comic Sans (the most refined of fonts) size 50. He rolled away from his desk, pointing his eyes to the sky as though waiting for the judgment of some hundreds of gods. Four simple words which meant very little to the hypothetical boy in his hypothetical universe, but not because they were insignificant, but because after these four words were written, nothing was quite so hypothetical. He looked sadly onward, unsure if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, or if it had simply crushed him into nothingness, and repeated to himself shakily the four words which forever changed the course of his life “I am Jacob Horne.”