#koinophobia

Koinoniphobia

The fear of rooms

Short story 1:

Koinophobia

The Fear of Living an Ordinary Life

(Term created by John Koenig)

 Hot steam rose from the bland coffee mug, curling into small swirling patterns before dispersing into the air. A pair of tired eyes watched the process be repeated, not daring to grab the mug just quite yet, in fear of burning their fingers or tongue. Next to the coffee mug was an open laptop, the screen lighting up the dark area surrounding it giving the early morning just a little bit more of light. The laptop itself was an older, slower version, yet the owner of the eyes couldn’t quite bring themselves to give it up or sell it yet. It was a gift from their daughter.

Their eyes blinked slowly, before a small sigh slipped from the person’s chapped lips. Softly wrinkled hands rose to wipe their face in exasperation, as they exhaled tiredly. ‘I’m getting too old for this,’ they thought, as they hesitantly reached for the laptop. They couldn’t help but wonder if they really wanted to do this. Their life had seemed like a whirlwind of time, emotions and actions while they were living it, but now… Now it just seemed…small. Unimportant. Insignificant. Their life didn’t seem too different from anyone else. Yes, they had made different decisions and did different things than perhaps Johnny from next door, but in the end… In the end it seemed as though they did the same things as everyone else. They went to school, graduated, went to university, got a job, met a nice person, got married to said person, had a few kids, watched them grow up and finally retired.

 When they put their life in perspective like that, they seemed so...normal. So similar to everyone they knew. All of their important milestones were the exact same milestones as everyone else. Their so called personal milestones were everyone’s own. It was how everyone seemed to live. Everyone, everyone, everyone… They were beginning to hate that word. Had their life really been so…

 So ordinary?

 They inhaled sharply at that realization, their fists reflexively clenching, their entire body going rigid. No, no, no, that couldn’t be right. They were different from others’ lives, they had made different decisions and done different things-

 But how many people have made the same decisions as they did?

 How many people did what they did?

 How many people had lived their life exactly like their own?

 How…special were they really?

 They weren’t were they? Special. Unique. Different. There was no such thing, was there? Everything people did, had already been done before. They weren’t special to other people, they were just another stranger on the street, just another blank face to everyone who saw them. Of course, people could argue that there were important and unique people. They would say that all those people who have changed the world, who did things differently, who influenced and inspired so many people were unique. But were they really? In comparison to everyone else, how different were they truly? They were still human. They still made mistakes. They had parents, a family, a job, a life like everyone else.

 The laptop’s light dimmed, softly startling them at the sudden change. They shot their hand out and pushed the lid down, leaving them in complete darkness. Pulling their hands up to cup their face, they couldn’t help but feel… small. As though their very life were useless. As if everything they had- No. As if everything everyone had ever done was… insignificant. Because everything would end wouldn’t it. All of their lives would stop one day and they would be forgotten. There would be no-one to remember them. No-one to mourn for them. No-one to laugh, to cry, to love, to sing, to shout, to scream, to hate with. Even the most disgusting parts of the world would be erased. And as wonderful as that would be… The beautiful things in life would cease to exist.

 Mountains would be crushed, seas dried out, civilizations destroyed, forests burnt down, tunnels collapsed. Birds would lie dead on the floor, instead of soaring free in the sky. Books would have crumbled to dust, their hidden knowledge long forgotten. The burning heat of lava would have grown to cold, cold stone. Everything would be gone. And no-one would know. No-one would ever know who they were. What they did. What they achieved.