*If you can make this up, you’re good. May be confusing.
Alone. Dark. Cold. Silence. No life; no flora no fauna…just him. The pestering he loved was gone. So were those who needed help. And the heartbroken too. The world grew larger, or so he thought. And so he gathered the little strength he had and stood up. Started walking towards the faint light ahead.
He approaches. It leads to a dimly lit corridor. On the walls, posters. Banners. Graffiti tattooed all over with his name in context. For all the wrong reasons. “MIA”. “Buster”. “Liar”. “Cheat”. “Loser”. “Trash”. “Waste of space”.A god of his kind had been reduced to nought. With no explanation; no reason; no cause. He had become average. He walks down the Hall of Shame in disbelief..
He gets to a door. He opens it. Bright light stuns him. Headache. His eyes adjust. The world at large; more splendid than before; full of life and vigour..but he is sad. He’s right in the midst of the human traffic. But he’s invisible. No one sees him. Even they that badly needed him; that depended on him for survival…that bond was savoured. He gets slighty happy when a man knocks him and he and falls to the dirt. And when he gets up, he makes up the sign the man hung on his neck. “Free hugs”. He needed someone to realise him. Nil. He hates the world. His work is done. He figured it was time for him to die. That solitude. That feeling of being unwanted; invisible; “a waste of space” was unbearable. No one to care; no one to be cared for. No one to love, no one to be loved by. “Why am I here?” “If the world is already a better place, then what’s my purpose for living?” And he decides that he might be of use in the afterlife, for the world no longer needs him.
But he wakes up. From the nightmare. Sweating. His aching head feels twice the size. And so does his heart. Another chance to prove his worth. And so he goes forth, burning with the flame of youth, broad minded and open hearted. For he’s still scared…but he knows what he must do.
The price of being a genius