Real Life

Junior, 2nd prize

Nick Stefanovic
St Flannan’s College, Ennis

WHEN I was five, my mother used to tell me that money cannot buy you happiness. And now, looking back at the years gone by, I realise, that like many things in the world, that, is a lie. In fact, most of these “life lessons”, are like factory-made products, mass produced in order to be fed to and consumed by unsuspecting children, or even worse, misguided adults. But they’re called cliches for a reason, right?
“The Prohap Effect”, as the media labelled it, caught on at an astonishing speed. There were sceptics. There was controversy. But sooner or later, pretty much everyone succumbed to the “Money Drug”. It’s funny really, how quickly it sparked interest, being the ridiculous idea that it is. Everybody took the pill; young, old, rich, poor. It was quick and painless. You swallow the little yellow pill, and think of the good old days. How you used to play with your puppy Charles, or how the sky would reflect in the mirror-like water of the pond where you used to lay still for hours in summertime. There, at the edge of the water, you would watch the clouds float by, and think about a myriad of little things that have to get done, seen or acquired. And then, “BAM!” there it is. The $10 or the $100 bill rests snugly in your pocket when you next reach into it.
Needless to say, scientific inquiries into the phenomenon were launched almost immediately. All the while however, all over the globe, childhood memories were being recollected and smiles salvaged from the dull grayness of routine. But no scientist could explain how it worked. Religion became almost obsolete, as priests and monks gave into the temptation provided by Prohap. You could blame it on human instinct I suppose. Our desire to hoard more and more eventually won over bitter jealousy and resentment towards others.
I however, was different; I never took the pill, even though temptation often got a hold of me. In fact, it was rather commonplace for me to lay in bed at night, wide awake, pondering this decision; the decision to remain normal in what became the greatest freak show that our world has ever seen. Though I suppose the dilemma of it, the nudging force that brought me to the kitchen at 2am for yet another fridge raid throughout all these nights, was a fundamental question. “What IS normal?”. My world was crumbling around me by the minute, as my core values such as honesty and persistence seemingly vanished into thin air. The easy availability of money and my refusal to let myself be swept into the fray, like yet another grain of sand in a storm ignited a peculiar conflict within my head. My conscience became a battle ground for the ultimate conflict between desire and principle. A war, that was no longer fought in Iraq or Afghanistan, but instead, in the place where most of us felt utterly secure and private – the human mind. A nagging that never goes away, a silent rebellion that stays with you everywhere, whether you’re awake or asleep, full or hungry. I could imagine the two clashing forces becoming alive through some Socratic personification. An angel and a demon by my side, following me every step of the way.
“Take the pill, go on, just take it. You’re human, you don’t need an explanation for things no one can understand. What have you got to lose anyway?”
“Sanity and personal values for one. Look at those freaks! Stripped of true emotion, lives revolving around one single memory. Like a vicious circle of materialism, monetary gain and expenditure. People forgot what pride felt like. There’s no way you’re becoming a machine.”
“But consider the problems you could resolve. You dreamt of being rich, of being fulfilled and satisfied. What happened man? Your childhood dream is within your reach, all you have to do is reach out, grab it, never ever let go”.
“You can’t let go. Once you’re in, you’re like a heroin addict who needs his next fix more than he needs food; every happy thought, every positive emotion will attract the money like a plague, a virus that there’s no cure for. And believe me mate, you don’t want that.”
On and on throughout the day, my thoughts became the one thing that I wished, so badly, would disappear, even if it were just for one full hour. The fake emotions of people around me weren’t the issue, the issue was the fact that it bothered me so much. But then again, when everything you’ve ever known, and I mean absolutely everything, is suddenly not the way it used to be, you don’t just rock out in a flannel shirt to the tune of Strawberry Fields Forever, do you?
It was yet another tortuous day in the life of the lunatic that I have become, just one of many. However, it was the day when something clicked inside of me, yet, I, was unaware of it of course. After a morning trip to the nearest Starbucks (Which brought “Service with a smile” to a whole new level by the way), I set out on a long mindless march through the streets that I used to feel a part of. Joyful phone-conversations and seemingly blissful people made this December morning work commute comparable to a Renaissance Venetian festival, with masks being the key component. I longed for escape, but the syndrome was global, it could not be outrun or outsmarted, it was here to stay.
At 6am, it was still dark and I felt as though I dissolved into the city every time I stopped at a traffic light, alongside the people who would have inspired horror films a year ago, the so-called majority. By the time the sun started throwing its first golden beams on the rooftops of New York, shedding futile light on a city that was immersed in its own self-induced demise, I reached outer Manhattan. Here, the town houses merged with the busier retail venues, creating a vivid picture of the so-called New York Life. But who would want to visit it now? Tourism isn’t something people are interested in anymore, with their primary concern being controlling their own minds to suit the effects of Prohap. And then, I heard the music.
The unmistakable sound of The Masterplan by Oasis filled my ears, each chord sending shivers down my spine, as a song so relevant filled the air with meaning, something that has been missing ever since all of the world’s pharmacies stuck the price tag of $20 on every single magic pill they could lay their hands on. The reassuring sound came from an old man, with a rugged Spanish guitar. He sat on a sole wooden bench, half of it still snugly capped by pure white snow, his only other listeners being the pigeons who flocked around him. I walked toward him, keeping my eyes fixed on the ground as a flame of hope was being rekindled inside me. The man seemed like my saviour, somebody who understood, despite not having done anything remarkable or having proven himself worthy of the title. Yet, I never spoke to him. As I approached my newly found soulmate (the standards for which have been significantly lowered in recent times), a gust of wind swept the birds into the air, causing me to look up. My gaze wasn’t met by God, or anything supernatural in nature, but for me, what I saw was just as powerful. The billboard. The billboard that this winter guitarist was standing under. Three words on a plain black background, along with the picture of some model who I am unfamiliar with meant everything to me. It was a realisation that I longed for all these months, and now, seeing the bold white letters spell out “Diamonds Are Forever”, attempting to sell jewellery to those who cared at the time, made it perfectly clear.
Standing there, letting the bitter wind lash out at my unprotected face, and still listening to a raspy voice propagate the fact that we’re all part of the masterplan, I understood. Money didn’t have to buy happiness, no. In this world, money now owned happiness. In some perverse divine act, humanity was subjected to a trial of the mind, where cold, hard cash was the tormentor, and most of us, failed the test remarkably, going against the childhood teachings of our parents, teachers, and guides. The worst part is? There was no judge in this courtroom, no jury to sentence the world. A hot tear rolled down my frozen cheek and as I shuffled away towards the Hudson, at peace with my futility, it struck me, I could still cry.