Here I am. The edge. I'm looking down. I can't do this. I'm scared of falling, and dying, and the height makes me nauseous, but I'm here for a goddamn reason, and so help me, you non-existent deity, I will fulfil the purpose that I so audaciously claim that must occur.
I must die.
There is no question. There is no purpose for my existence, but to be the pale, faded puppet master of some aimless cult of fools. That is not me. Whatever it is that I need to have, as opposed to this, this most terrible of ways, I have lost it. I don't know what I need. Whatever it is that I've got to do is nothing more than the simple imperative to write the last chapter and jump off of this very high, very daunting cliff.
I've decided to consume the last of my drugs en-masse, in case I don't do this... Either way, I'm liable to be dead.
Dead.
Why do I want to die?
Liberation.
Liberation from what?
Myself.
Myself... Screw that guy. That guy sucks. That guy can go and jump off a cliff... God damn this man and his horrid puns and how he resides within me, as me, in the same body, but he gives me these dirty, monstrous looks when I peer into the mirror.
I see a monster in me, and a mob of victims behind me.
If you look hard enough, maybe you can see me in the dirt.
Adieu.
Your bog is a fascinating read. I hear your voice when I read the posts, because your honesty and sense of humour are so clear. While your blog is unusual ( I would expect nothing less), there is still unity in the thoughts and perspective of the story.
ReplyDeleteWell done, Zachary!
You've come up with many quirky ways of making your points throughout. Hope. Nope. If you look hard enough, maybe you will see me in the dirt = a great line.
Here's your great mark: 95%
Zach,
ReplyDeletePlease email me or drop off the rest of your work!
sarah.hunter@ocdsb.ca
You can attend credit recovery on Friday 3 to 8. They will let you print. Please get a grade that is worthy of your work.