Our Eternal Stillness

A Message From The Narrator

Hello. My name is Elizabeth Waterson. I am 26 years old. I died mere moments ago.

Death is a strange thing. It's the absence of life. Thoughts escape before they even form. The thing that used to form them decays away. Unusable. Trash. Fertilizer for the dirt. A meal for the begging worms.

I do not see a heaven nor a hell, but perhaps it is heavenly to not have a heaven or hell. Who is to say that a complete stillness is not greater than a polluted shameful excuse for existence? Is not existing better than existing if existing means pain? If it guarantees far more sufferings than I could count?

Would the most miserable being on earth die, and feel the silence, and if it could wish or think, wish itself to be miserable again so that the silence may be filled? Is silence itself more miserable than misery? I am not one to say.

Life is full of regrets. Regrets stick in our mind longer, make a more profound impact, than success. Does success, therefore, slip from our minds? Although I assume I have more regrets then successes, what if this surmise is not correct? Am I wrong in assuming that the things I remember are the only things worth remembering? If I am correct in the latter, either success is not worth remembering or my earlier assumption of regrets plaguing our lives like an innumerable swarm are correct. If the former choice is correct, why are the only positive things in our life less worthy of remembrance than our negative experiences? If the latter choice is correct, I draw you back to before: Is silence better than that regret filled world?

I suppose neither is correct. Regrets are less like an innumerable swarm, and more like highly trained minority, compared to an immense number of neutral moments and a raw powered force of successes. These regrets kill all of the neutral moments in one fatal swoop, and then chop away at successes until only the strongest are there to guard our castle, our sanctuary.

I always knew our only sanctuary was our minds.