This Is The End, Beautiful Friend.

-Loquacious Llama

He looked, with some amusement at the noose looming ahead of him. A tiny bug struggled to free itself from the tangled coir rope. “What irony! Here I struggle to steel myself for death, and there, someone is struggling to stay alive. I feel a smile on my lips, despite what I am about to do.” The shock of his mortality finally hit him, like a sock filled with with wet sand to the face.

“How pitiful life is. Even at the end, I can’t get myself to accept that death is a necessity.” He sighed and looked out the window, into the depressing downpour of gray rain. ”Maybe I should have a drink or two to steel my nerves. It might even ease the pain of my passing.” He walked out, not caring for the pitter-patter of drops on his head, drumming soft beats into his skull. A man was peering into an electronics store window, lottery ticket in hand. He grimaced. ”Of all the slimy bugs stored in Pandora’s jar, Hope is the worst, really. While poverty, sickness, accidents hit you without warning, they finish their task off with just one strike. Hope just prolongs suffering, urging you on, thrusting minor incentives into your way, begging you not to falter or give up, all the while leading you to a deep pit of misery and pain, like a goat to the sacrificial altar. For when the last straw falls, the disappointment of a worthless life, a pointless chase, is too much for even the toughest spirit to bear. The only thing pure and beautiful in this world is Death, for it provides you with a much-needed rest, no more getting hurt or broken.” A passing car transferred the contents of a large puddle onto his clothes. Soaked to the bone, he felt a shiver pass him from toe to head, setting off a premonitory tingle through his spine. “The amount of suffering these simple physical sensations can cause never ceases to amaze me, even though the seat of all pain is in the mind. Maybe man is born just to endure agony, to bear hardship upon hardship on his weak shoulders. Maybe this cycle of pain and troubles is all we inherited from the Creator. Is life really worth living for?” He pushed open the door of the bar at the corner of the street and walked in, his clothes dripping brown water all over the polished marble floor. A typical day at the bar, the usual drunken brawl in the corner of the room, the usual drunken couple not able to keep their hands off each other, the bored and chronically depressed bartender and the broken man sobbing into his drink, yes, it was always the same. “I’d better take something that’d numb enough of my brain cells for me not to care about anything anymore. Hell, it might even alleviate some of this torment my soul seems to be going through. Miserere mei, Deus; Tibi soli peccavi, Et malum coram te feci.” After a long drag at his tear-soaked glass, he set it down and stared hard at the bubbling liquid in it. “What would mother say if she saw me in this state? Dear sweet mother, who raised me patiently for all these years, all alone, never caring for herself. Would she find this end to such a long and painstakingly raised life just as she had imagined it to be?” And then, for the first time in decades, he wept; picturing his mother at his grave, uncontrollably screaming. The glistening drops fell from his chin and onto the hard wooden surface of the bar. He walked out of the bar, tears still clouding his eyes. “Maybe there still is a chance to turn this pathetic waste of a life around. But, first, I’ll visit Mom. I haven’t seen her in years. Then, I’ll have a fresh start. I do still have a degree, and I can work everything out and make it all better. I’ll take the job that…”

BEEP BEEP! SCREECH! WHAM!

“I’m really sorry Ma’am, but he was dead on arrival. There was nothing I could do. It seems he had wandered onto the road unconsciously, without looking at where he was going. I’m really sorry for your loss.”, said the doctor to the inconsolable mother.

For life is just a depressing cycle of pain, loss and misery. And you, dear reader, can never truly escape the ouroboros of fate, no matter how hard you try.

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