Consequences

            Slaton leaned back in his plush, red recliner, took a magnanimous puff from his stogy cigar, and as he exhaled the smoke in what might have looked like a four-leaf clover in the right light, spoke to his friend, Bart.

            “Here’s my problem, though, see?  I’ve been stuck here for, what, a few months?  Damned peasants down the road can’t handle the fact that I happened across such a lavish lifestyle, while they have next to nothing.  I tried telling them they didn’t have the guts to hold up the right high-end businessmen, but it’s hard to do that without incriminating myself, you know?  Anyway, since I’ve been stuck here, I’ve been thinking.”

            “So you do manage to think! I was beginning to worry, Slaton.” Bart said, chuckling to himself and leaning against the doorway, ever so nonchalantly.

            “I know, surprise, surprise, right? Hardy har-har, I’m trying to be serious for once.  I’ve heard these people from time to time talking about this great plan, or something. I think The Police called it Synchronicity, and that guy with a philosophy degree called it Determinalism.”

            “Determinism you mean, yeah.  So you’re saying a punk band pokes your brain into actually thinking?  What, do you find yourself lost in thought contemplating the deeper meaning of “Roxanne”?  A whore’s a whore, Slaton, that’s it.  Doesn’t matter what color lights she uses, she’d be the same person if she used blue lights rather than red.”

            “No shit, Bart. When did you get an education in analysis, eh?  You won’t even let me get to the point, come on. “

            “It would help if you actually spit it out.” Bart smirked over his teacup.

            “Fine, fine.” Slaton ran his hand through his hair, collecting his thoughts. “What I’m trying to say is, who’s to know what’s right, huh?  These people say that everything happens for a reason, that there are no coincidences.  I find that hard to believe, you know?  If everything is planned out by something and meant to happen, why do I feel like I decide what I do? I don’t feel like a robot following a program, or any shit like that.  And if everything is supposed to happen, why do we punish people for doing things we consider wrong, or regret events in the past?  Does free will not exist? It certainly can’t coexist with this synchronicity idea, because one fucks with the other, you see?  And even so, we can’t really see what would happen if we went back and tried to do something different, so no one’s thoughts on this can be tested! It’s hurting my head, Bart, but it passes the time.”

            Bart sipped his tea, calmly.  Swishing the tea around in his mouth, he seemed to be considering his words carefully before saying them. After a few minutes, he replied.

            “It’s an odd mix of the two, I think.  You may think that the two ideas can’t exist at the same time, but think about it a little harder.  You choose what you do, that is a given.  I won’t try to deny that we have free will, and can make decisions for ourselves; I think that is too obvious to ignore.  However, looking at your life, is everything you do not a reaction to something else?  You can put the smartest person in the world on a roof, and he will fall when you push him, regardless of his will or decision making abilities.  You could also make him decide to come to the roof by holding his prized possessions hostage until he does as you please. He’s making a decision, yet the result was almost predetermined, anyway.”