The Progressive Minimalist

The progressive minimalist sits in her deluxe high rise overmatching the city below. The people on the ground floor with their X-brand shoes and the Y-brand watches speaking into their Z-Brand phones and all the while wanting more. The progressive minimalist watches from her tower, her disdain for the people and all of their things below. She watches with nothing. She watches with little.

She is a minimalist, she keeps only what she needs. What she needs to survive. What she needs to live fully and nothing else. She has no want for anything more, she has no need for anything more. From her deluxe apartment with nothing in it, with little in it, she paces back and forth. She looks down on the people below and she hisses to herself. She knows herself to be the noble woman, she knows herself to have only what she needs and to bring the chance for everyone else to have what they need. There is no greed, there is no jealousy. But there is class. Class, elegance, style.

Those below, that fill their pockets with unnecessary things, that look through shop windows with glistening eyes that are hungry to devour anything they can get their hands on. Those below are predators, in the new wild, in a concrete jungle with trees that climb to the heavens and no desire to climb there. Those below never look up. Those below never think of what they need. They take whatever they can have. They take whatever is offered. They beg for more. They ask for more. They want only more.

The progressive minimalist wanders through her deluxe apartment alone. She needs no one. She wants no one. She has no one. Those below, they travel in packs. She speaks no words. They speak many. She looks at white walls, they at grey.

The progressive minimalist hasn’t left her prison in a year. She hasn’t stepped foot outside of her walls. She hasn’t put on her one pair of shoes to go out into the world. She has everything she needs. Food is delivered. She has shelter, running water. She needs nothing, she wants nothing, she thinks nothing.

Those below think only what is put into their heads. Those below don’t know where to go. Those below have no place to go. They wander, with their X-brand show and their N-brand shirts out into the streets hoping for someone to look at them. But no one looks. Except for her, in her deluxe apartment, with nothing to say.

The progressive minimalist takes out her one time piece, and a screen pops up with pictures. She scrolls through movies, and TV shows. She scrolls through articles about life. She reads about laughter and happiness, things that are not necessary for her survival. Things she does not want. Things she does not need. She watches as pictures of others fly past her empty room in mid air, she watches babies go by, she watches old friends and lovers, she watches life. She goes to her one window and tosses out her one time piece. Pictures of her friends, her lovers, her life, fly through the air for all those below to see. But they never look up. They look through windows, they look at things they don’t need and grow angry. Life passes over their heads. Without the slightest hint as to what their world could be if they looked up, their eyes water with greed.

The progressive minimalist in her deluxe apartment, looks down at all she has left. She watches her people below, her entertainment, her everything. She watches, but can never have. She is a minimalist. She watches as people go by, and she watches as they never look up. She watches and her eyes glisten with greed.