They say humans are transient. Temporary, brief, makeshift. We live an average of 80 years, but in such a short span; we love, we hate, we laugh, we cry, we create, we destroy, we dance, we give, we take, we sing, we care, we experience and we move so many times and in so many ways that nothing that ever happens to us truly lasts for a lifetime. Everything eventually becomes a memory. Something so vivid and so present, becomes something so faint and so distant. Some things hit us harder than others, some things move us more than others, but all the same; does it ever truly last? Is it not only a naivete who wishfully believes that everything lasts forever? That there is no end? That life goes on and on until one grows old?
Alas, I was once such a naivete. And today, I face my foolish notions head on. In my final moments, with the sharp knife of reality confronting me, and an ever so painful figure standing across me, I gasp for air.
He looks at me. I look at him. And it is at this moment, that we lock eyes, that... suddenly the world seems to come to a standstill. The air is quiet. The earth is still. The last pin has dropped. And as the final bits of life slowly drain out of me, I take him in. There he stood. He was tall; thin, with an earth shattering scar above his left eye. His face was reddish and rough, and his eyes sparkled like silver emeralds. His hair was an unusual color; perhaps reddish blonde. It was thick and straight, and it sharply curled at the top. He had a fat, pointed nose, that reminded me of my own papa's nose. His lips were thin and chapped- almost grey, with a little mole beside them. He was a fine looking lad; with features that cleverly connected to each other to make him who he physically was. I stared below his neck. It was long, and there was another scar on his neck. It looked white. I could not exactly tell his figure; because.... the jacket. The black, long, thick jacket engulfed his body like an endless cape, running just below his knees. The material looked smooth and expensive, it almost shone under the silver moonlight reflecting upon it. It had tiny little circles that spread like waves across. They looked like interconnected chains; ending just below his neck. His pale face which was contrasted by the black jacket made for an interesting combination. Below the jacket he wore nothing but old brown boots. His legs were thin and scrawny; seemingly like they belonged on a sick young child. The boots were loose on them, it was easy to tell. And they further emphasized his thin legs. To me, the jacket was the most noticeable feature about him still. It was ; to a large extent, what made me face reality.
Right now, as I lay on the wet and muddy grass, with the vicious stab wound in my chest stopping my life; I realized that this was death staring at me. Death was a black jacket in boots, engulfing me, emphasizing my comparative insignificance. I was; essentially, nothing but a tiny spec in the vast expanse of the cosmos. Death was bigger than me. There was no such thing as happily ever after, there was no such thing as a guaranteed long life. Not for me. Not for millions of others.
My life was like a needle in the grand old haystack. Transient, like me. In this moment, everything was over. I would never laugh again, I would never cry again, I would never create, destroy, give, take, dance again. And perhaps damning of all; I would never love again. I would never feel that sick rush of passion and intimacy that drove me crazy, I would never feel that care and that radical empathy for anyone again. All my emotions were transient. All my relationships, all my experiences, all my life; were transient. Mortal, temporary, fugacious. And now, I realized that everything I had taken for granted; waking up, feeling the sun, hugging, singing, soaring; it was all going. Leaving. Ending. Fleeting. My mind flashed through everything and everyone; my family, my friends, my lovers and my haters, and it all rushed to me like an endless stream. In a sharp flash. All at once. It was a moment I knew I could not fight. I did not want to fight. The boy in the black Jacket gazed at me in a look I would never receive again. Empathy. Care. Sorrow.
It was as if we were strangers; had never met each other before, and simultaneously it was like we knew each other with an unmistakable intimacy that could never be matched. As the wind slowly moved his loose black jacket, the world began to move again too. It didn't care. It wasn't alive. The black jacket wasn't alive either. It surrounded the boy; but it didn't care about him. The world surrounded me; but it did not care about me. When he dies, it won't weep, it won't moan. For, in truth, it has lost nothing of significance. It moves on. Intact. Possibly, it will even find a new owner. Only those who know him will weep. And only those who know me will weep. 'Tis the same with the world. It does not laugh when he laughs, nor sing when he sings, nor love when he loves. He values the black jacket, the black jacket does not value him. The jacket brings the boy comfort, the boy does not bring anything to the jacket. Even if he did, why would it care? It was inanimate. Indifferent. Motionless. He was animate, caring, ever shifting. This fundamental difference would never reconcile. And, this is the inconvenient truth of life. The boy with the black jacket seems to understand. He nods. Instinctively, it is like he knows he has to just leave me there. No yelling; no shouting; no calling for help. Just... end. As he walks out of view, I close my eyes. Everything is shutting down. I could feel it. It was done. I was done. I feel myself turn into nothingness as the world is already moving on around me. Now I too, am motionless, indifferent, still.
Gone. Like the boy in the black jacket. Forgotten. Like the needle in the haystack. Powerless. Like the single grain of sand that rests on the great dunes which lay upon the impassive world.
Done. And now it is finished.
