The anti-gothic

The world is a wonderful place, and you feel just swell

By Rebecca Peterson, Assistant Editor

You wake up in the morning, feeling refreshed and ready to face the day!

And what a day it is! The sun is covered by the fluffiest of rain clouds, lightning flashes against your old and broken windows like fireworks, and the rumbling of thunder in the distance reminds you of a jolly giant wishing you a bright hello.

You give a nod to the portent of doom lingering to the left of your dishwasher, and the severed, spectral hand waves back at you, even adding a little crook of a withered finger as if to say, “Come here, friend, I’ve got a present for you!” You laugh merrily—what a prankster the portent is! You tell it that its presence is present enough, and skip along out the door.

What luck! The moment you find yourself on the sidewalk, a beautiful black cat cuts right across your path. You lean down to give it a gentle pat on the head, giggling as it tries to high-five you back with its ragged, bloodstained paw. It bounds away after that, so you continue along your path, making extra certain not to jostle the ladder inexplicably placed in the middle of the sidewalk as you pass underneath it.

A few blocks along, a raven lands on a nearby lamppost and begins to sing to you in a hoarse, piercing caw. How kind! You attempt to sing along, echoing the raven’s unconventional melodies. You hear a long, loud shriek in the distance—someone must have overheard your little duet, and is now attempting to join for a trio! The raven finishes with an echoing scream, and departs.

The rain that starts to pour down upon you as you walk is a surprising shade of deep red, and has an almost metallic scent to it. You tilt your head back to the heavens and let the wonder of nature’s unpredictability sprinkle crimson majesty upon you. It may stain your outfit, but you don’t care. It’s lifting your already-buoyant spirits, even if it is a little sticky.

You’re nearly at the SkyTrain now, shrouded in fog as dark, unknowable figures shift about in the distant mist. Oh, the potential for new and fulfilling friendships! You pick up the pace, eager to join them.

You don’t see the crack in the sidewalk until you trip over it, and stub your toe.

You

Stub

Your

Toe.

You feel the cold, unyielding claws of mortality close about your very soul. With a cry, you drop to your knees, the pain overwhelming you, stifling your every breath. You’ve been betrayed—betrayed! Cursed with pain by a cruel and unfeeling world, and even crueller and more unfeeling concrete. You curse the Gods above, knowing your cries are but a distant echo to indifferent skies.

Your toe throbs, like the quaver of a weeping child. You push yourself to your feet, your heart rid of all warmth and love. This world is but a hard and cold penitentiary of human suffering.

It’s going to be a long day.