I’m sad. I think. As I lie bleeding to death. Blood pooling around me. I have realised that I don’t understand pain. Not the half of it. I know I’ve witnessed a lot; inflicted most of it. But I don’t fully understand it. And it is only now, in my final moments, as my own excruciating pain clouds my thoughts that the depths of pain become more lucid.
The young Spaniard I taught a lesson to all those years ago. Wielding the sword crafted for myself by the father I once killed. An overdeveloped sense of vengeance that one. Studying swordplay for twenty years only to strike me down after a few minutes, it was quite disappointing really. I do hope he feels better. "Hello," he said. "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." He got a few of those out of his system before stabbing me.
It was in him that I discovered pain is not only a fleeting experience nor does it leave cuts that slowly heal and fade away. Wrenching, emotional agony leaves a scar that eternally fuels a fire of hatred. Pain does not always lead to weakness. It can strengthen and make a better man.
This Inigo also finally allowed me to experience my own pain. It’s fitting I suppose that my last entry speaks of my own pain brought on by one of the first subjects who I examined. Experiencing pain is much different to watching it. At first a blinding agony followed by a burning spread through my limbs from the stab wounds to the left and just below my heart. I had passed out from the pain. The Spaniard must have thought I’d died; the idiot. I lie now on the cold stone ground, blood trickles from my lips but I cannot feel it. Only taste it.
The pain is dulling to an ache. Heaviness has spread throughout my body making it harder to think; to write; to breathe. I hope you; the one who found this will add this to my book. Find the Albino or the Prince and go to the Zoo of Death. My findings are there; all my observations; my life’s work. Go to an editor or a book seller. Get it sold. Maybe the money can go towards setting my wife up with a Salon in Paris. She did always want one of those.
There is no pain anymore.