I walked, with a synchronised crowd weaving through the street. We had a mechanical gait which seemed to be purposeful, but in reality I was oblivious to any real significance of this daily goose chase.
Through the entirety of my life I had chased money, to the point where it became unnecessary, but every time, I thought I had enough, I saw someone above me in the hierarchy scorn at me, instigating me to continue my purposeless toil for self-justification. You see, my ego was like a boss that incessantly demanded me to accrue more money for self-embellishment, and despite the exhaustion of all my fortitude, it was never satisfied.
My obsession got to a point where I decided to forego sleep. Sleep was an impediment in my progress, even though the changing landscapes of my dreams were a relief and escape from the monotony of my life. I stayed up for nine whole days, during which, redbull, coffee and tea, fuelled my cognitive and motor machinery. I worked out unceasingly, walked nine shows in order to procure more media attention and, of course, the attention of other renowned fashion designers.
Initially, my cognitive ability deteriorated. It took me a while to fathom things, my native language began to sound like the incoherent language of a Neanderthal. Then, my life started becoming a farrago, where excerpts from my long abandoned dreams began piercing through my perception of reality. Finally, the one that bore heavily on my career, was the loss of balance and consciousness on the ninth runway.
The last thing I remember from my walk on the outdoor runway, is a gargantuan, black cloud that had spread over the heavens. After that, for three days I vacillated between periods of consciousness and unconsciousness. During the transient periods of consciousness, I reflected on my life, pondered whether I was satisfied with it, and my mind always dissented. Every day, my meticulously chosen accoutrement and my neatly coiffured hair, vouched for my stability and wholeness as a person, yet deep within I sensed a void. If I were to die that day, I realised, that all the wealth that I had so sedulously acquired, would be dispersed. I felt my self plunging into pitch dark unconsciousness, thinking I was dying without having achieved anything worthwhile in my life. However, I awoke to the cold air of my sumptuous bedroom. Money had allowed me to hire a nurse, who on my request shut the bedroom window, but it didn't allow me to go back to the people in the crowds; with whom I walked mechanically, apathetic to their feelings. Had I tended to their needs, I would have felt the warmth of a friend's concern in that cold room.
Miraculously, I didn't die discontented, I had narrowly escaped death, and worst of all the end of an egocentrically expended life. Indeed, I had suffered in life, but all my exertions were directed towards gaining temporary fruition and transient happiness.
I have returned to my long forsaken passions, which I had exchanged for wealth. I am writing again in convalescence, to galvanise people to escape the monotony of life, so they may part from it with diverse and consoling memories.
Today, I woke up to chirping birds heralding dawn, with a resolute mind to escape my old, stifling life. I am going to assume my vacant place in society. The purpose of life is not hoarding money; money is for mere sustenance. The avarice to gather more and more, leads you empty handed to your death.