Stories from an Empty Room

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I'm here, but I'm not. Where am I? I don't exactly know.
A campus, perhaps. With students walking in and out of buildings, chattering and laughing as they mock someone else's mistakes.
Humans, they call us. Bipedal creatures with the given gift of what some may call a soul, blessed with feeling certain complex emotions. But is it really a blessing? Or is it a curse?
We weren't suppose to exist in the first place, but we do now. We're nature's miracle, some might say, but with knowing comes dread.

Some have finally given up and accepted this as it is, just our brain stimulating everything that we need to live, still imprisoned by the thought of death.
It's not so bad, really. We never knew we existed until we were around five years old or so, when our brains were knowledgeable enough to know what the fuck is going on. So why give a rat's arse to dying? The darkness is comfort, after all.

A legacy, that's what they want. Something to leave behind before they leave this wicked place, something other demons will remember them by. A title, perhaps? The Queen, The President, or The Star. Or maybe materialism is your thing. The Tallest Skyscraper, The Richest Human, or The Fastest Car?
Which ever you make, which ever you own, which ever you are, four generations from now no one will ever remember your hardships.

We exist because we do, there's nothing more to it.

Then again, I am a victim of my own words.
Why do I write?