Rebel without a cause

I sprawled out on the shaded, trimly cut grass, adjacent to the library steps. It was a hair past 1:30 on Friday afternoon, and the town was silent. No chatter, no exchange of plans, and not even any ringing of the church bells. I read the preface as well as the first chapter of the intimidating, 650 page Fountainhead novel.

Questions about myself, as well as life in general, arose as I leisurely skimmed from one page to the next. The plot of this noteworthy book revolves around a brilliant student who gets expelled for rash, individual thought towards architecture. The boy was not just a rebel, but an idealist, which–seems foreseeable as reading–allows him to manifest his revolutionary ideas, I think.

This character, in my mind, runs a parallel life to that of Hunter S. Thompson–in the sense of a great mind and rebellious personality. I can identify with this persona: at least the defiant nature. The makeup of one’s individuality is the essence of each human being, and it is understandable why a bold personality is revered; it displays the confidence, courage, willful psyche that lies behind the skin.

Needless to say, humans are also attracted to great minds. Although in the main character’s case as well as Hunter’s, institutions and organizations ousted them for their disobedience, despite their intellect. However, more and more people are willing to tolerate it, if intelligence is paired with it. I have not identified my innate talent, therefore, my disobedience compels my cooperation to drape over it, unfortunately. But it is also arguable that I have not further developed any one of my abilities to allow one to overshadow the others.

I shut the book and set it to the left of me. I leaned back, supported by my two stiff arms behind me, and gazed outward to nothing in particular. My mind was exhausted from the constant loops I ran it through. There’s no real end, just repetition. I wasn’t inspired or discouraged for that matter. A moment later, a train roared by in the distance, rumbling and whistling along the tracks. I pounced up and jumped in my car,    then I road alongside the tracks, chasing after it, solely for the ride.





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