In times like this, I can see myself digging at the Earth. Causing the Earth to disintegrate under my bare hands. Delivering destruction to these people that deserve it ever so plainly - that is, if they still existed. Erasing the unworthy off the face of the universe. Ferociously tearing apart all of this to shreds - pieces and fragmented shards of fallen souls, fallen from grace. Because? Just because. Because of the need to be just; because nothing was ever meant to last or made to last; because only death and nonexistence can last. Since everybody looks for something good, and stays there (or wish to) when they have it - why not court death for the sake of its beauty, for the sake of its ability to transcend time?
And then when they did, I was almost entirely sorry I ever thought of that. It's not that I wish for the saddest of fates to occur, but rather, I thought it was a pity for us to grow so much to experience so little. When the first deaths began, I thought I could never breathe again. It was like I had lost something - just one piece of solid ground in my ever-changing life vanishing from beneath my feet. I was falling through the endless sky, ravished by the dead who have transcended life. I was not dead, and neither was I alive, but I knew from the taste of the air that this was the universe that I existed in.
Just like in all forms of falling, the moment you hit the ground, the internal explosion takes place - a joyous peace rips apart every inch of your body - except in mine, it burned like a flame, each ember sparking another engorged, burning tongue that lapped away at every inch of my sanity.
Perhaps I knew the man that first died. Perhaps I saw him on the television or in the papers. Perhaps I even knew him personally and had addressed him by his fist name. If not for the fact that it was said that he had killed himself, I would have thought myself to be the assailant and the destroyer. I believed I despised life as much. But as the cruel instigator would not and had not given me the pleasure, I will, and shall settle for much less.
But - if you will - I shall start from where it mattered - from, perhaps, when I woke up again, and breathed, and started and stopped all at once. Perhaps I should start from today - but what is today when tomorrow was there for me, waiting in gleeful encouragement for forever and more to come?
There can only be sense in senselessness. I have no sense of time, or space, for I know not where I am, where I should be, nor when I had left my past life. The only lingering point that reminded me that I had been, and still am a human is that was a lingering ache in my chest where I was stabbed -
- but I was not. No memory of such an occurrence existed, nor did any physical sign of such an assault retain itself upon my body. There was no blemish, laceration nor wound that indicated such an indecency upon my being. I was not stabbed.
I refused, however, to believe that I was hurt, deep inside. Emotional attachment is worthless. I would have treasured friends and family, and would have felt the joys of pains if not for the possibility of 'forever'. Relationships no longer needed to beat the challenge of time, or fight its gradual decay as one grew and moved on. Like how one cannot remain in ecstasy, feelings would fade to a stagnant spring of resignation. Our humanity, in its entirety, would and had faded away. I, still, could not feel as inhuman as I had become. The dehumanization process is fairly simple - one simply has to live long enough to grow weary and fatigued of living pointlessly. In fact, why I live now, or even speak now, is but a mystery to the mess of gray matter that still functions and resides. The wonder of it all, is that perhaps it is because I am so human that I am here.
The tapes in my head have been playing ever since I had been aware of its showing. Visions of life and the walking, talking evidence of it crowded my mind, filling it to the very brim. A man, a woman, a child. A decrepit man, an illustrious lady, a child in work uniform. A man swollen from wealth, a withered woman with little to her name, a child puffing feverishly on a cigarette. I wondered if these people were still alive, or even existed as they once were. The visions flickered yet and again, pulling another character from its depths and pushing its former back into nonexistence, and this continued, on and on, until one simply became endlessly exhausted, or sick of life itself.
The screen in my head switched off, leaving me blinded in the darkness. I had no fight within me to leave where I was, neither had I any resolve to stay. An itch, however, grew, and all that I had to do was to think away the itch - after all, the human mind was unbeatable.
Or so, it seemed, for I could not withhold the coming of another being. Somewhere in the darkness the cords were loosened, and somewhere in the light I was sent. Unbound I was from my restrictions, and so I began to run free, away from my bindings and away from my captor. I was running. I was soaring. Most of all, I was alive.
As I embraced life like a long-lost kin once again, all that was familiar was lost, and within me a pang of sadness struck, for the realization dawned upon me - I was not found, but I was once again lost. After a long run from the darkness, there I stood, a shadow in the middle of noon, on a street where nobody else was. Scattered around me were the remains of life and the wake of the living, and I was the unfortunate graffiti on this work of art.
Honestly, I had no idea what I was writing. I wasn't trying to craft a story as much as I was writing from the heart. Then again, I am but a madman, and thus the whirligig of time brings its revenges...