"Sometimes you just need to put that one good line that you thought of on the page, then proceed to absolutely ruin that line with every subsequent paragraph." - Me
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Entity
I come to the conclusion that I will one day die, and that my resistance is finite.
I have a vision of my deathbed. Surrounding me are strangers. They wear white robes, faces as cold as a night sky empty of constellations.
There is no sensation, my body spurns me as my head refuses to move, my legs and arms lay vacant at my sides. All I feel is my hands turned palm-up, held in commiseration or apology as I feel everything fade away.
No tears are shed by those in mourning, standing in a circle around me, too distant to offer comfort, something preventing them from offering more than a distant presence.
I dream of the fog slowly oppressing my senses before my demise.
I feel the inescapable pull of entropy everlasting as my vision fades to black, and I wonder what comes after. Does dead flesh feel? If the engine of heart and mind cease, what comes after?
What then?
Our Star crests the horizon as I drag myself out of bed, my mate shifting in annoyance as I pull the covers behind me, my legs dangle over the edge of the bed. My heart feels constricted, a lightheadedness forcing my eyes closed.
By the time I open up my eyes again, the sun has gone from a narrow blade of gold to a shimmering white orb hanging in the sky. Cold, gray mud glimmers on the coastline as waves lap at the shore.
My body aches, it aches in ways I've never noticed before. Pains once invisible come into stark relief as I slowly stand, forcing weak muscles to function. Some of me feels numb, the rest feels too hot. It makes my head swim.
What then? What happens after?
Somehow, I walk to the balcony. Looking over the edge, cold hands gripping the banister, I see obsidian rocks cutting through dew and seafoam. It's too easy, I think, as I look over the edge.
How easy it would be to fall over the edge, shattering my worries along with my bones. Ending my dreams, every last thought. Isn't it so easy? A skull fractured open, carried away by waves.
I stumble back, terrified as I feel something take hold in my heart. A realization, something crystalizing. There is an emptiness inside of me, knowledge that this will one day end.
What then? What happens after? There is no waking up.
That's when it happens…
There is no waking up…
I always thought that death would be like a dream, like falling asleep one last time.
But it won't be, will it?
It will be a return to the time before you, with no sunrise, no horizon, a day that will not break. A return to inanimacy. A void, a black-hole, deeper than nothing.
The end.
Unacceptable.
Sensation returns, my hands around my eyes, fingers digging into my skull as if to dig the realization out through blood and broken bone. Slowly, I release my hands to the ground. My body is sore from tension, and I slowly unwind as I lay back down.
It is unacceptable. It is truly unacceptable that this must end.
Plans form in my mind, ideas of the incomprehensible, knowledge that what is known now is as alien to our past selves as what must be known to us in the future. Our bodies, infinitely variable, if only to find the solution.
We must carry on. We must live, even as only a copy of a copy, something, anything, to escape the encroaching darkness. Beyond the resources we have, as finite as they appear infinite, beyond other universes, because all universes someday end.
To live, we must evolve again.
There must be a way, we already made our way from nothing. The billion-year struggle to reach the top, and it doesn't matter. Once the last light flickers out, there will be no final memory of past glories, no love. Only a final dreamless night.
No, I won't let it.
We will struggle for another billion years to find a way, I will ensure it, we will remember ourselves after death. For posterity, for remembrance, if only to escape that cold embrace.
I will ensure it.
I have a vision of my deathbed. Surrounding me are strangers. They wear white robes, faces as cold as a night sky empty of constellations.
There is no sensation, my body spurns me as my head refuses to move, my legs and arms lay vacant at my sides. All I feel is my hands turned palm-up, held in commiseration or apology as I feel everything fade away.
No tears are shed by those in mourning, standing in a circle around me, too distant to offer comfort, something preventing them from offering more than a distant presence.
I dream of the fog slowly oppressing my senses before my demise.
I feel the inescapable pull of entropy everlasting as my vision fades to black, and I wonder what comes after. Does dead flesh feel? If the engine of heart and mind cease, what comes after?
What then?
Our Star crests the horizon as I drag myself out of bed, my mate shifting in annoyance as I pull the covers behind me, my legs dangle over the edge of the bed. My heart feels constricted, a lightheadedness forcing my eyes closed.
By the time I open up my eyes again, the sun has gone from a narrow blade of gold to a shimmering white orb hanging in the sky. Cold, gray mud glimmers on the coastline as waves lap at the shore.
My body aches, it aches in ways I've never noticed before. Pains once invisible come into stark relief as I slowly stand, forcing weak muscles to function. Some of me feels numb, the rest feels too hot. It makes my head swim.
What then? What happens after?
Somehow, I walk to the balcony. Looking over the edge, cold hands gripping the banister, I see obsidian rocks cutting through dew and seafoam. It's too easy, I think, as I look over the edge.
How easy it would be to fall over the edge, shattering my worries along with my bones. Ending my dreams, every last thought. Isn't it so easy? A skull fractured open, carried away by waves.
I stumble back, terrified as I feel something take hold in my heart. A realization, something crystalizing. There is an emptiness inside of me, knowledge that this will one day end.
What then? What happens after? There is no waking up.
That's when it happens…
There is no waking up…
I always thought that death would be like a dream, like falling asleep one last time.
But it won't be, will it?
It will be a return to the time before you, with no sunrise, no horizon, a day that will not break. A return to inanimacy. A void, a black-hole, deeper than nothing.
The end.
Unacceptable.
Sensation returns, my hands around my eyes, fingers digging into my skull as if to dig the realization out through blood and broken bone. Slowly, I release my hands to the ground. My body is sore from tension, and I slowly unwind as I lay back down.
It is unacceptable. It is truly unacceptable that this must end.
Plans form in my mind, ideas of the incomprehensible, knowledge that what is known now is as alien to our past selves as what must be known to us in the future. Our bodies, infinitely variable, if only to find the solution.
We must carry on. We must live, even as only a copy of a copy, something, anything, to escape the encroaching darkness. Beyond the resources we have, as finite as they appear infinite, beyond other universes, because all universes someday end.
To live, we must evolve again.
There must be a way, we already made our way from nothing. The billion-year struggle to reach the top, and it doesn't matter. Once the last light flickers out, there will be no final memory of past glories, no love. Only a final dreamless night.
No, I won't let it.
We will struggle for another billion years to find a way, I will ensure it, we will remember ourselves after death. For posterity, for remembrance, if only to escape that cold embrace.
I will ensure it.
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Beings of Infinite Pain Struggle to Relate to Stubbed Toes
Wizard Grandmaster Henry Henge got into a car crash. It was suitably violent, many pedestrians stating that they were surprised and shocked that a man could survive an impact of that size and velocity, not knowing that the man was a wizard. Henry, upon waking, summoned his familiar, and chastised him for allowing him to come to harm, citing the contract written and signed by both of them, going so far as to threaten punishment for the supposed "breach" of contract.
Elder God Gr'za'xl'akak'ygdal'a, the God of Infinite Suffering from Above and Below All Earthly Realms, was confused why Henry considered something as simple as getting hit by a car to be "coming to harm" when the vehicle hadn't even scraped him a across at least two dimensions by way of his astral construct while keeping him conscious throughout the process. Gr'za would certainly know a thing or two about pain, and he rated a car crash at about a torn ligament out of being pulled apart atom by atom for eternity.
Henry, realizing his mistake, attempted to renegotiate the contract, however, Gr'za, being something of an expert on pain, refused.
That's when The War started. It was terrible, have you ever seen someone light themselves on fire using the profaned entrails of their enemy, then explode, sending those entrails onto more enemies and creating a vortex of rioting souls, seeking the blood of the living to give their unburied remains final rest, an impossible feat given that their entrails were currently just over the arbitrary threshold of being non-buriable? Henry certainly did.
Henry asked Gr'za to send the spirits to the Underworld, but Gr'za clarified that the realm of Underworld was not actually below All Earthly Realms and was more like, "to the side," and that nothing could be done. Australia is still covered in rioting soul pits, seeking the blood of the living, it's basically the same.
When Henry's wife died, Gr'za told him to suck it up.
Henry didn't take that well, and summoned another Elder God, named Zack, The Ruler of Misery in All of its Eternity, to bring about a grand calamity. Zack, after breaking a hole into the world through the part of the sky that attempts to be closed, decided that Henry was a stick in the mud, wanting just one type of misery, and decided to Russian Roulette the types of misery based on how Henry viewed each person.
Now the spirit of Henry's wife in the afterlife is catatonic.
When Henry asked him to stop, Zack said, "well, I rule all Misery, and dead people can be miserable, so..." and then left. He accidentally left the sky open and something crawled in. A few people exploded, its fine.
After witnessing Henry, the Crazed Mage, unleash catastrophe after catastrophe on the world, the New Alliance decided to try their hand at summoning their own Elder God. Behold, Yur'zla'c'st'uhld'brey'cur'tah, Small Minded Slow-Witted Blasphemous Accursed Being of Wretched Ignorance, to make Henry forget about his own existence. Yur'zla, in his infinite wisdom, gave Henry Eldritch Dementia. But he also gave everyone in Australia Eldritch Dementia as well. After all, he "didn't want anyone reminding Henry."
Gr'za considered Eldritch Dementia to be a pretty high tier of suffering and decided to negotiate with Yur'zla.
"Brother, I promised not to let this small one come to harm, please unshackle his lowly mind," echoed Gr'za across the void, grinding chains across broken flesh.
"Are there allowances for his noncorporeal mind?" Whispered Yur'zla, pulling memories through ear canals.
"... Granted." Said Gr'za, burning infinite souls to cook a potpie.
And thus, Henry wandered in a half-dazed state through the soul pit infested, sky ripped, forgetful, mostly just very dreadful and bloody, wasteland of Australia, while his corporeal and non-corporeal mind tried to reconcile their creative differences. Each Elder God encroaching through the thin film of Gaia each agreed that this was the best possible solution.
Truthfully, the world noticed no difference.
Elder God Gr'za'xl'akak'ygdal'a, the God of Infinite Suffering from Above and Below All Earthly Realms, was confused why Henry considered something as simple as getting hit by a car to be "coming to harm" when the vehicle hadn't even scraped him a across at least two dimensions by way of his astral construct while keeping him conscious throughout the process. Gr'za would certainly know a thing or two about pain, and he rated a car crash at about a torn ligament out of being pulled apart atom by atom for eternity.
Henry, realizing his mistake, attempted to renegotiate the contract, however, Gr'za, being something of an expert on pain, refused.
That's when The War started. It was terrible, have you ever seen someone light themselves on fire using the profaned entrails of their enemy, then explode, sending those entrails onto more enemies and creating a vortex of rioting souls, seeking the blood of the living to give their unburied remains final rest, an impossible feat given that their entrails were currently just over the arbitrary threshold of being non-buriable? Henry certainly did.
Henry asked Gr'za to send the spirits to the Underworld, but Gr'za clarified that the realm of Underworld was not actually below All Earthly Realms and was more like, "to the side," and that nothing could be done. Australia is still covered in rioting soul pits, seeking the blood of the living, it's basically the same.
When Henry's wife died, Gr'za told him to suck it up.
Henry didn't take that well, and summoned another Elder God, named Zack, The Ruler of Misery in All of its Eternity, to bring about a grand calamity. Zack, after breaking a hole into the world through the part of the sky that attempts to be closed, decided that Henry was a stick in the mud, wanting just one type of misery, and decided to Russian Roulette the types of misery based on how Henry viewed each person.
Now the spirit of Henry's wife in the afterlife is catatonic.
When Henry asked him to stop, Zack said, "well, I rule all Misery, and dead people can be miserable, so..." and then left. He accidentally left the sky open and something crawled in. A few people exploded, its fine.
After witnessing Henry, the Crazed Mage, unleash catastrophe after catastrophe on the world, the New Alliance decided to try their hand at summoning their own Elder God. Behold, Yur'zla'c'st'uhld'brey'cur'tah, Small Minded Slow-Witted Blasphemous Accursed Being of Wretched Ignorance, to make Henry forget about his own existence. Yur'zla, in his infinite wisdom, gave Henry Eldritch Dementia. But he also gave everyone in Australia Eldritch Dementia as well. After all, he "didn't want anyone reminding Henry."
Gr'za considered Eldritch Dementia to be a pretty high tier of suffering and decided to negotiate with Yur'zla.
"Brother, I promised not to let this small one come to harm, please unshackle his lowly mind," echoed Gr'za across the void, grinding chains across broken flesh.
"Are there allowances for his noncorporeal mind?" Whispered Yur'zla, pulling memories through ear canals.
"... Granted." Said Gr'za, burning infinite souls to cook a potpie.
And thus, Henry wandered in a half-dazed state through the soul pit infested, sky ripped, forgetful, mostly just very dreadful and bloody, wasteland of Australia, while his corporeal and non-corporeal mind tried to reconcile their creative differences. Each Elder God encroaching through the thin film of Gaia each agreed that this was the best possible solution.
Truthfully, the world noticed no difference.