Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Story: Realization Five

The next realization is about death and the concept of nothing (and the fact that we depend on our human point of view too much, thinking it's the only true one). There are things that are hard to grasp out there, but exploring them might be of a certain benefit. Well, the Realizations are getting darker with this one.

Realization Five

It was a curse to wake up in sweat every morning. It was a curse to remember that each evening, the nightmare was ahead. Yet there was no way to avoid it.

Help? Neither medication nor therapies, neither sleeplessness nor tweaking rapid eye movement states.

It had begun long ago. Ever since his childhood. At first, he had been used to them but as time had gone, the ideas had been accumulating. New experiences were twisting themselves into unspeakable horrors. He thought those nightmares wouldn't go any further, but he was proven wrong each night.

Juggernauts of flesh and slime, their twisted limbs mutilating him while screaming in inhuman voice, eerie landscapes devoid of life and feeling, bizarre happenings stripping him of his body, rendering him dead and forcing him to battle for consciousness.

Nobody knew that feeling and he didn't know it was it. The moment of death. Many said there was light, many said it meant heaven. But none could realize it was a misinformation stemming from the aforementioned battle. Until their time came, of course.

He struggled for life in the unbearable agony, his instincts coming up with various images and thoughts so as to desperately save themselves. Like a cornered beast desperately trying to break free.

He always woke up though. He always found he had won. However, he didn't view it as a battle, not to mention a victorious battle. He viewed it as a terrible experience. An experience not worth reliving.

With each night, his mind was being grounded into a senseless mush. He didn't want to live through it again. He didn't want to see the fear. He wanted to lose the battle.

Yes. It was always like that. Every agony was the same, though some swift, some slow. And he had the twisted privilege to taste it every sleep.

There was no difference between his condition and the common one if frequency was omitted. For the mind was the administrator of the body and if death was imminent, it was the mind which was put before the decision of survival and process of reclaiming life.

And one day, the decision was different from all the others. Death.

The monsters overwhelmed him. The ground was dead. The place was rotten. The air was stale. The thoughts exhausted. The will absent.

He didn't fight anymore. He didn't flee either. To reach peace, he had to go through the sharpest of pains. His entrails were spilled across the place and his carcass was left lying in his own pool of blood.

In a moment of triumph, the monsters roared and rejoiced. An event perceived by his waning consciousness as most disturbing.

His body was still on his bed, though. Completely unharmed and untouched, curled under a blanket. His jaws were clenched and his hands held the pillow in a firm grasp, symbolizing the process of enduring the pain.

His mind? It wasn't there anymore. He lost the fight, after all. He gave in and ceased to exist. There was no difference between varieties of deaths, for the final stage and result was always the same.

But before he died, he was put before the struggle like every day. And like every day, his instincts shifted the consciousness from various landscapes, places, images, sounds and feelings to another.

He overrode it, realizing the countless revisits of death scenarios had given him the training. Instead of those numberless arrays of imagery, there was a simple question.

How could he die in a dream?

And in the emptiness which he was able to find only thanks to his many experiences, there was an answer.

He had never lived. There was no life. It was just a thought. Everything was the same although perception told him otherwise. Told him the arrogant assumption of him and others being life forms. Only in death could he find out the final truth that eluded many. It could be said that he was lucky to realize that which none had, after all.

He wasn't dead, because he had never been alive. And because he had never been alive, he could never have died.

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