I, Death

Tuesday October 23, 2012 - 1:17 AM

I’ve been mostly sitting in my room. All day I waited for the sun to go down. Since it went down, I've still just been sitting here, waiting for it to come up.

But I know that the sun coming up again won’t make a difference. It won’t change a single God-damned thing.

Because I am finally to beginning to understand what I am.

I am death.

And the death has to end.

These nightmares I call ‘life’ have to end.

Maybe if Sarah was still around, if she hadn’t run off (and I can’t believe that anything worse has happened to her — she’s merely run away, that’s all), if she was still here, maybe we could talk, and she could make things better.

But I know that isn’t going to happen.

And even if it did, what would keep her safe from me, from my essence of death?

I’ve been thinking, again, about Hamlet’s soliloquy, thinking about how wonderfully he put the whole situation, the debate about suicide. I’ve been trying to come up with my own way of putting it, a way that someone else can appreciate.

But I can’t.

I keep falling back on Shakespeare’s words.

To be, or not to be.

There is no question in my mind, now. I don’t care if it’s nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. I need to take arms against this sea of troubles, and by opposing end them.

To die — to sleep no more.

And to end the thousand natural shocks and heartaches that flesh is heir to.

I’ve been heir to many heartaches, many shocks. From my mother, who died during my childbirth, to my father who died when I was very young, from Donnie to Jagdish, Robbie, Rainy and Gwen, from Sarah’s father to Aunt Shelly and Uncle Bob.

Over time, my power, this death I give others, has gotten stronger as I’ve aged. It’s taken all kinds of guises, too: from a slow rotting cancer to a sudden accident. But lately, as I saw with Jag, and especially with the last death, Uncle Bob’s death, and even, partially, with Aunt Shelly’s, it can be sudden.

And it seems as if the death can be conveyed through a simple stare.

Through my eyes.

I’ve known for several hours now that I’m going to end it, here, before the sun comes up. I just wanted to leave something, this last journal entry, as a way of explaining to people who come here and find Uncle Bob’s dead body in the kitchen and mine in the bedroom.

I want people to understand that I had no choice.

Because, when I finish typing this last entry and posting it, I’m going to walk over to my bedroom mirror and stare at my reflection intently.

For as long as it takes.

[END OF PART I]

[The rest of this novel will continue to be rolled out on a regular basis here on Wattpad, but if you can't wait to read it, the print and eBook version is available through all major online retailers - Atomic Fez's page (with links) is here:  http://www.atomicfez.com/book-catalogue/9781927609033.html]