Sursum Corda

November 29, 2031

         There is something undeniably romantic about a slow death. The drawn out pain, the suffering. I mean everybody dies, but a slow death, now that is something special. A slow death has the power to make almost anyone seem like a Hero. And the messier, the better. The public loves a good slaughter. It’s their favorite spectator sport. Martyrs make this world go round. Don’t believe me? Then tell me, would Jesus of Nazareth have been as big a hit if he had quietly poisoned himself like Socrates? No chance. There’s no chance at all. History is written in blood, not hemlock.

         I'm bleeding right now, inside. It's slow, but it’s unmistakable. Thinking about it, I have to smile. And I begin to wonder. Maybe, if I suffer enough in Death, if I bleed enough, if I build my funeral pyre so high that it lights up the night sky for hundreds of miles all around ... then maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to burn away all the sins of my life, and I’ll be set free. I'd like that. I'd like that a lot: to settle the scales right here, right now, and be done with it, once and for all. To go to sleep and never wake up, forever. But I know that won't happen; there will be no hero’s death for me. I cannot make amends; it's much too late for that. There isn't a blaze of glory big enough.

         I did not ask to be special. I did not want this place in history. But this is my life. I did what I did. And now I have to do what I have to do. I can see my Fate on the horizon, now. As stark and obvious as a mushroom cloud. I could have sworn it wasn't there yesterday. But now I can feel it inching closer, even as I write these words. Or maybe it's standing still, and I'm moving towards it. I can't tell, and it doesn’t really matter anyway.

         I've been praying for death for a long time now. And in my heart, I knew that it would never come. I did not prepare myself for this moment. And I do not know how to feel. I see the Road before me and I despise it. But it is the only road there is. And in a sick way, I want to see what's at the end. Deliverance will come soon, they say.

Deliverance will consume.

         The whole wide world is dying, boys and girls. And the gods of man are right here with us, hovering over the deathbed, hoping for a good show. Damn us all.

I wish I was an Atheist.