There was an ideal life that many humans strived for.
Do well in school, get into a good college, work, become financially stable, settle down with a wife, have some kids.
A perfectly normal and fulfilling life for many. But they all seemed to have a certain crux: keeping your head down.
You had to avoid all mistakes like the plague to achieve such a life. Inaction and uniformity. Conforming to the hidden hand of society. Whether one understood it or not, they had been shackled.
But keeping his head down only ever seemed to hurt Mark. Aversion to conflict appeared as a weakness to others.
When he was pushed in the hallway intentionally, he said nothing. Mark kept walking.
When Mark lent money to his friend who never paid him back, he said nothing. He did nothing. Why start conflict for such a small price?
It was a mentality born from his controlling parents. They laid the lines to his path. And there would be no deviation.
Mark was quite normal despite it all. He felt above average in all aspects. He loved reading just as much as he loved sports.
Despite his aptitude for both academics and athletics, he felt a bit nerd-like.
Mark indulged in the plethora of fantasy stories that the world had to offer. As the world grew dark and twisted with time, the stories only seemed brighter and better. Or perhaps it was the contrast of reality and fiction that changed.
When he ran out of hard-cover fiction, having re-read them several times over, he moved onto web novels. Sometimes, Mark believed that this was the real downfall of his life—his brain chemistry never returned to normal after this.
Access to these stories was under the strict guiding hand of his family who demanded he read the traditional and educational literature they gave him.
This level of control was common, and Mark would usually comply and keep his head down.
But for some reason, for the first time in his life, he snuck behind his parents back. Mark bought a separate device with his own money just to read web novels when he could.
Much to his parent's delight, he became more enthusiastic about completing his academic and household obligations. Of course, this was all just to read even more.
Following the heavy-handed guidance of his parents was life for Mark. He rationalized being a drone with the allure of the end goal: A stable and fulfilling life.
"No drugs. No parties. No girlfriends either. You will prioritize grades first."
"You must do well on this. Do the practice test again."
"Don't get into fights. You won't get a good job with a criminal record," his parents would say with the usual monotone, bored tone.
Mark would no doubt be successful.
He thought the ends justified the means
It was too late. It couldn't be undone. His life had been fixed for him. A shallow life of regret and indecision.
Part of the blame landed on himself. He should've fought back. He should've attempted to live.
Live. Not just floating on by—how his parents expected him to.
But all that anger and spite from a shallow life lived would eat at any happiness he'd somehow manage to cultivate.
Mark always wondered why his parents seemed so drained, bored, and lifeless.
It was because the path they took wasn't fulfilling.
Mark didn't truly grasp that fact until he died.
Throughout college and high school, Mark watched tentatively from the sidelines as his friends and acquaintances went out drinking and partying. They'd show up to class the next day high and hungover.
'So stupid. How is that fun? What are you gonna do with your life in a few years?' Mark would argue against them internally—actual confrontation with fools would only hurt himself, after all.
It wasn't until Mark died that he realized why they chose to make these awful blunders.
It was the life of choice. A life of no regrets. They never lived in fear of making mistakes.
"Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes." – Mahatma Gandhi.
He had never been allowed to make mistakes. Wasn't he smarter than the rest?
He would be more successful—he would be financially free, the greatest struggle throughout history was of class.
So why were they happier?
The simple action of choice allowed them to live happily; for the present and into their future.
When those 'fools' grew up, somehow managing to salvage their lives, then growing old with happy smiles and large families, they had mistakes to look back fondly upon.
But Mark would only have regret. He would have the life he wanted without blemish, but it was also without substance.
Though, Mark would never grow old enough to see his miserable future life, though he was certain of its undesirability.
He should've made those mistakes. Why hadn't he made those mistakes?
Because he was never told to. No one ordered him to live such a life.
His parents were hellbent on controlling as many facets of his life as possible.
Rather than fight back, skirt around the rules, or do anything, he did what he was told.
Mark hated himself for not having the backbone to try.
This wasn't the meandering cries of a spoiled brat in his final moments. He didn't hate his parents. But they controlled him into a life that wasn't his own.
Authority. All roads led to a being above him.
In every part of Mark's past upon which he gazed, the iron fist of authority was apparent.
The thought of it exuded a deep abhorrence. One that Mark never knew he had, or could feel.
That was until that very day. That fateful day—when authority had sentenced him to death.
…
"He who gives up freedom for safety deserves neither."
…
In the early spring of 2027, Mark sat alone in his dorm room.
TAP. TAP. TAP.
His knee jittered against the wood floor as he stared at his laptop screen. Every young adult in America watched with unprecedented uncertainty.
The political conflicts with the United States' enemies had grown and grown. Along with it was the U.S.'s own Authoritarianism.
To fuel their war machine, the government wanted able bodies. To that end, they used the war draft.
Humans never learned from history. Unlike the Vietnam War, there were no anti-war protests. Everyone complied.
On a large board were birthdays. If one's birthday was pulled from the pile, they would be conscripted.
This was Mark's fate.
He watched with awe as the most vile, wrinkly, disgustingly old congressman stood in front of the camera.
And unfortunately for Mark, January 2nd was called.
"Hah…" a deep exhale of disbelief.
The authority of someone above Mark had all but condemned him to death.
Mark loathed it.
The once-dead passionate flame of freedom kindled. Small embers of fury lit those kindling.
'Fucking politicians…'
…
When he told his parents the news, they had little to say. All they offered was their solemn love and support. It infuriated Mark to no end.
Of course, they made sure to remind him that draft dodging wasn't an option. And as usual, Mark complied.
It was one thing to recognize your issues. But to fix his deeply embedded habits and tendencies, he would probably need to be reborn once more. He messed up his first chance.
But at least there was a bright side. His hard work in school allowed him to secure a comfortable position in the army as an unmanned drone operator.
And he did what he was told. Conditioned his entire life to follow orders, being a soldier seemed like a match made in heaven.
Mark contributed his fair share to the well-known horrors of war. There was no joy in it; just regret.
He wanted to believe that the means justified the ends. That killing would let him return home. He could go back to his mundane life. That was preferable to warfare.
The mind was the greatest deceiver of the self.
The means didn't justify the ends. The war was a mistake. It was a tale as old as time.
"The only thing we learn from history is that we learn nothing from history." - Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel
Sirens. People all over the world frantically ran to the shelters. But it was futile.
Everything ended in flame.