Gnight Time

In the dark of every night, while the whole world is sound asleep and the streets are an amber lit void. Every road is empty of life, except for one little gnome. Well, gnome would be the scientific term but for all intents and purposes, he’s a just a tiny bloke who roams the streets after dark, Being a gnome doesn’t really play into it all that much. He’s just like us, other than the fact that he has an innate magical aura, but he doesn't like to bring that up. He’s quite modest. In the quiet of the most silent hours, he takes walks through the towns and villages, it’s where he belongs really. It's the way that he was evolved. His natural habitat. He’s as at home with shut up shop fronts and the still of a secluded subway as any of us are on high speed high streets or tumultuous train stations.

Although, he does sometimes long for the way we get to see things. After all, what does he really do? Yes, the streets do have an eerie tranquility to them. A bizarre, meditative quality that can calm the most troublesome heart. But what, he wondered, was it all for, if not to experience the high of heavy thought on the mind and the rush of stressful scenarios. He had never been close to overwhelmed or burden with as much as a minor concern. Imagine that, someone seeking out our anxieties and issues. Someone who wanted to share our worries about this month’s gas bill, or our frustration with the loud people on the bus. Imagine someone envious of our problems and anything that upsets us. Surely it’s us who should be jealous. After all, if we had a life like his, we wouldn’t have this turmoil, this constant need to relinquish job after job, objective after objective in aim of what? To live a life of comfort without issues. Surely with these things, we would be truly happy.

Happiness, he thought, is something perhaps unobtainable, then. Since once he would taste the life of hectic energy that we live, he would soon miss the vast emptiness of peace. As goes for us. The moment we leave our frantic world into the easy night we would become contest as he is. Maybe, he pondered, we achieve contentment once we live both of these lives and drink from each glass without emptying one or the other. The grass is supposedly greener on the other side, but by standing on the fence, we can get the best view. This changed the way he saw the world and helped him to make steps towards a happier existence. And where is he now?

Fucking nowhere. He isn’t real. I made him up. You’d better not have taken any of that to heart because he doesn’t exist. He’s a gnome for christ’s sake. Honestly, I don’t think you’d need advice on life if you weren’t wasting your time reading pathetic stories about magical chaps who mill about the streets after dark. Take a look in the mirror and get a grip, mate.