Aeschylus lay sickly in his bed. The heat from the Mediterranean sun baking his fever ridden body. In the end he had no one at his side. He had failed to love. Isolation only brought loneliness. In the end there was no good answer.
He was nothing more than a victim of the absurd. Has his fever increased his mind began to wander. But always coming back to whom he felt he had failed. This saddened Aeschylus, who began to cry.
"I am sorry my love. I have fallen and have failed you!", Aeschylus cried aloud for no one to hear.
Slowly his eye sight failed him. His heat cooked his brain. Marry melancholic nostalgia overtook the the old Aeschylus. In the end he ended his mortal venture stuck in a dream. His last breath escaped him.
"Loneliness it seems, is the only comfort in this world! Better than the love of the absurd! Nevermore will I love again! The Void is my escape!" Gasped Aeschylus.
Aeschylus had died just how he lived a latter if his life, alone and isolated.
