Daybreak. Restlessness arouses the sleeper. The night before waking was of peaceful rest, or so it seemed. Perhaps, to begin with, one crept unwarily into the shadows of Restlessness' cloak. A different dimension it was, for perhaps only Fatigue, drawing strengths from Unknown, could undertake everything the shadow offered. Fatigue is as much as anyone could be, standing still on a platform in the other side of Waking, facing a mirror-dome that illuminated and reflected every single drop of fear that rolled out the waking person. Each drop contained images of one's Darkness in full manifestation; Darkness, like Fatigue, is as overwhelming as anyone allowed themselves to be. For once, existing otherwise is realized: One dies only to witness the death of both body and spirit repetitively. This is the essence of Restlessness in that it existed as long as the Witness wanted to exist as what is or otherwise.
Everyday begins with the smaller routines, most of which are almost meaningless. One washes, dresses, then eats while flipping every page of the morning paper, congratulating themselves on how fortunate he or she is not to be afflicted with such tragedy as those featured in the daily statistical report, for whom they truly barely have a heart for. Perhaps it was a way out - to psych one's self to soothe every inch of being that harbored profound feelings of existential unworthiness. Then the most potent of routines follows.
I cannot say for sure of those who drove. Perhaps, having said so, that whatever follows applies just as well. Season after season, former records of the number of "rat-race" enrolments broke with much ease. Whether it was the mind of the system (if it had a mind to begin with) that broke it, or whether people consciously did, no one really knows for sure. But far from a rat-race this is. Those boarding any form of public Transportation try as much as they can to sardine themselves into a composition of metal, glass, plastic, etc, and perhaps trash and some really unpleasant odours, so as to arrive at their work desks as early as they insanely could. Insanity indeed: It was as if everyone was driven by a certain knowledge that wherever Transportation was going, it would lead them to Ambition's Destination. Along this knowledge was a kind of blind faith in the Transportation; it never occurred to anyone who the driver really was. This may be of good reason, for the world and everything within it was driven by Madness Rush. A good driver Madness was too, disguised as anything one could imagine it to be. Madness was as real as an optical illusion, seemingly as steady as the the bolts, nuts and frames that gave as much support to Transportation as it would to its passengers. As the vehicle moved along with its contains, Madness held everything in one piece so long as it willed so. Had he jammed the breaks out of nature, then entire balance of it all collapses like a pendulum out of orbit.
The strangest thing about this is, as mentioned, how it never occurred to anyone who the driver was. Everyone just faithfully boarded Transportation, holding on to the frames that held it all together as tightly as they could, and in doing so competing with everyone sardined in it for a space that can be held. Had the entire motion broke or crashed abruptly, everyone would be thrown off balance as violence wobbles and breaks the frame's firmness. People tumble and fall on each other while the entire locomotive threatens to collapse itself on them. Fear and panic breaks loose, emotions rise, evolutionary instincts takes over; every man for himself. One's fervent faith in Transportation suddenly crushes. The frames that one held on to for safety was in actuality as fragile as any dream or ambition one held on to. Stability within everything turned into chaos, and peace within the psyched mind and soul evaporates, leaving behind ashes of despair and hopelessness as would the nature of Restlessness and Madness Rush.
Perhaps this end is Ambition's Destination, for it is after all a never-ending one. This place has always been under construction for generations; different generations construct, build upon, and destroy what each perceives as ambition, making it ever more illusive. When enough is never enough, it is to die for. After all, it is the nature of a world that's driven by madness none other than rush, where a sleeping wake is much preferred compared to a waking sleep.
This is merely a depiction of a single drop of fear. Just imagine what a bowl of it could reveal... Daybreak. Restlessness arouses the sleeper.
