Purpose

She walked along the streets of late night Aaronsville, not knowing where to go, or what to do when she got there. It was something that she, like most people, should have concerned herself with while walking down the dark streets. However, something else plagued her mind, and she was trying desperately to distract herself as she trudged sullenly through the snow, passing under streetlamp after streetlamp. Once a silhouette, then a vague figure lost in the shadows.

What troubled young Ellie tonight was much the same as what troubled her most nights when she decided to take these long midnight walks through the city. It was another fight. Another argument. Another quarrel. Another battle, but the war was far from over. It was something she dealt with often, but not something she would like to become accustomed to. It was a ritual, a rite of passage, but one that led to a lifestyle undesired.

For a moment, she concentrated on the snowflakes, which glided gently down from the heavens and landed gracefully- oh, so very gracefully- upon the ground, only to be crushed, along with hundreds of other snowflakes, under her boots. What a useless thing to be, a snowflake.

Useless. A word she was all too familiar with. It haunted the back of her mind at all times, and on nights such as this it crept to the foremost boundaries of her thoughts, abruptly announcing its presence and demanding her utmost attention to its meaningfulness in her life, and, consequently, her meaninglessness in the life of others.

He would never change, she knew. Never. She used to wonder what effect her last words would have on him if she were to suddenly disappear, or to die in some tragic way. It was her unfortunate conclusion that they would have no effect at all. He may stop for a little while, but with time he would begin again, and forget entirely of her words, no matter how meaningful they were. Through this conclusion her death, too, would be useless.

For a moment, her attention shifted to one of the streetlamps ahead of her. Its light flickered once. Twice. Then it was no more.

A streetlamp. That would be a good thing to be. To serve a purpose, and to guide lonely strangers through the night would be a satisfying thing to do, rather than being the one guided. It would be a simple thing to be, a streetlamp. All one would have to do is stand silently in the nighttime streets, and shine brightly for whoever, if anyone at all, decided to pass by.

She sighed, for she was not a streetlamp, nor did she have any hope of becoming one. The streetlamp wasn’t even aware of her presence. What good would it do to serve a purpose if one weren’t aware of the presence of others? It would be a lonely thing to be, and an even lonelier thing to do, to shine brightly and unknowing of whether your light serves purpose.

Would it be much different than it is now? To be lonely and ignorant?

How often she longed for the ignorance of her early youth… When she was younger, she would fall laughingly into the snow, spreading her arms and legs to create what she believed was an angel. The angel was made just for her, and would watch over her until winter’s end. At that time in her life, she truly believed that everything would be alright, so long as there was snow with which to make angels. She was older now, and she knew that she could create thousands of snow-angels, and not a single one would ever come to her aide, no matter how desperately she needed it.

What a disappointing thing to be, an angel.

Pulling her jacket tighter around herself, she continued to trudge forward. It was a lonely and dark part of Aaronsville, where none but a few streetlamps lit the way. There were other parts in the city where the lamps lit up the night like day, but on nights like this, she preferred the darker streets.

For a moment, she glanced upwards and admired the stars. They shone their light down upon these dark streets, yet their light was never quite enough to make the streets visible without the streetlamps. It was as though the stars were trying to fulfill their purpose, but could never reach quite far enough to do so.

A car passed by, its headlights lighting up the path in front of her as it drove by. If only she could be that car, passing by a stranger on a cold night, not even noticing the stranger’s presence, and ignorant of the problems the stranger must confront. It would be nice, she thought, to know exactly where to go and what to do. To know one’s purpose.

Of course, the car doesn’t choose its path. Rather, it is the driver’s decision what the car is to do, and what the car’s purpose is. Did she want that? To have her purpose chosen for her? Of course not. It was not an enviable thing to be, a car.

Then again, no one chooses their own purpose.

She trudged on. Was it true? No one chooses their own purpose?

If they did, what use would it be? Wouldn’t that be purpose, in itself?

She sighed. She could see her breath coil in front of her before fading away. It was the breath’s purpose to keep her breathing. Each slow, cold breath, only reminded her of why she was out on the late night streets. She was an empty shell, existing only because it was the purpose of something else to keep her alive. She quickly decided that breath- her breath- would be a lonely thing; fulfilling a pointless purpose.

She kept walking, pulling her jacket closer to herself; ever closer.

What was the point? What was the purpose?

She stumbled, tried to regain her balance, but fell to the ground, face-first.

What was the point? What was the purpose?

She slowly turned on her side, then, accepting her fate, turned over on her back, staring at the streetlamp as it flickered on and off once again. What purpose did it have now, without a lonely stranger to guide?

The useless snowflakes compressed under her body, the sad silhouette of a wingless angel pressed into the snow. She was not driven to lie down there, in the dark street. There was no driver for her. There was no purpose.

Her breath came more and more slowly, coming to accept its uselessness. The streetlamp above her flickered on and off again. On, off... on, off... It blinked, blissfully ignorant of whether it was helping her or not, as she lay there, watching. On, off... on, off...... on, off.…....... on, off.

She sighed. What a silly thing to have, purpose.