Eternal Demise

Eternal Demise

Preface

I never understood why people spent their lives fighting so hard just to make their own lives longer. Why waste your life fearing death? Death is cunning and will find you, no matter where you hide. Death always wins. Accept that. With every beginning must inevitably someday come an end. That's the way of life. There is only one that thing you can always be sure will come. Only one thing that you know above all else is real. Death. We live to die.

Nothing lasts forever. When people claim that there's some never ending, glorious afterlife, it's just to mask their fears of what lies beyond. No one knows what awaits, except for those who claim to have been there. They said it was like a dream. How do they know it wasn't? The afterlife is your own creation. Whatever you want to exist will exist. Guilt will create a never ending nightmare, with "the devil" being a demonic mixture of your own inner fiends and the people you wronged and regret hurting.

There is a simple explanation. The extent of the human brain's abilities is far beyond comprehension. No one can fully understand how, but I believe the brain defies death and creates an illusion of life. We see this every night in our dreams, as we lie alone in the dark, but we're beyond positive that we're somewhere else with other people. Think of it- when you're dreaming, do you question anything, no matter how ridiculous it may seem when you think back on it after you've woken up? No- you accept it as a surrealistic reality. Death is all we really have, so we must learn to accept it like we accept our dreams.

As you can tell, I never really cared much for life. Why do people prefer life, the living hell? Why don't they just kill themselves, get it over with, and go to the everlasting peace? Why do they fight to stay alive? What's the point in living when you're just gonna die in the end? What's the point of life? I don't get it; I never have. Everything in life will just hurt you. Death is the only state of mind where you can't be hurt. You cannot feel pain. Love doesn't exist in death. It cannot exist. And love is pain.

I loved someone once; I loved them so much. They were the sun in my sky, the light in my heart, the glisten in me eyes, and when he died, there was never another light to replace him in my heart. Ever since then, a black cloud has grown over the sun, preventing its warmth from descending down upon me. Nothingness. Darkness is everywhere, and people replace the beauty of the stars and moon with fake light emitted by streetlights and artificial luminosity. It makes me hate everything. They make me hate everything.

When I was young, I lost my father in the 9/11 terrorist attack. That was undoubtedly the worst day of my life. It scarred me forever, like a knife through my heart. The scenes I saw that day burned their images into my brain, haunting me in all my dreams. I cannot escape the pain I feel every day. There's no way out. I'm lost from within, torturing myself with memories. Buried deep within the depth of my soul with no light to shine and show me the way out. All that exists are memories of pain. No blissful memories can exist here. It's too painful to recall them because they instigate the worse ones.

I remember the entire day and can hardly ever stop thinking about it. My mom, Mary, had gotten in a fight with my father the night before. They'd been fighting a lot lately over numerous things that were unclear to me at the time. She kicked him out for the night and never told me why. I just remember him pretending not to be on the verge of tears as he walked past me in my ballet tutu in the hallway by our apartment.

I should have known something was horribly wrong when this happened. I remember hearing shouts when Megan Parker and her mom were walking me to my apartment after my ballet class. My dad came out soon afterwards, obviously holding back tears as he looked at me, like he knew something he wasn't telling me. He walked past me and my eyes followed him down the hallway, matching his quick pace. I called out, "Daddy, where're you going?" He couldn't even look at me without regretting what he was doing to an extent I could never understand. Mary shouted one word after him as he left with nothing but his briefcase and the clothes on his back: "Insane".