You always knew you were going to die. The thought of death doen't bother you. You expected more, something dramatic like a gunshot or accident. A long illness surronded by friends and family. A final good bye. A last gasp. You don't have any food or water. All you can see is dark water. The moon's lamp is dull behind the clouds. You know the morning will bring a pitiless sun and you will die. You try and remember how you got here. You shuffle and sort the fragments of memory. Its pointless. How you got here is not important. You know you're never going to leave. All of your pleasant memories groan under the weight of a certain doom. You try praying even though you don't believe in God. You go through your pockets again. You wonder if you should drown yourself. You put your hand in the water, the cool black water.
posted by James @
8:38 AM
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Donnerstag, Februar 27, 2003  |
