Prologue – Trapped Rat

There isn’t any light in this room.   I don’t need any.   I am quite comfortable in it by this point.  I have spent so much time in this chamber, how could I ever need light to know my way around it.

How many years has it been?   Does time even really matter at this point?  How do you count days and nights without light to guide you?  How do you measure time, when you are immortal?

Time retains its meaning though, it stays a threat.  It keeps marching on.  I thought immortality meant not dying; remaining young for an eternity.  All I really want is a beautiful dish to pitch some woo, good food to fill my belly, and a substantial life.

But what is substantial?   How can you place a value on what you think is ‘substantial’?   Every man has dreams, every man has hopes.   But what happens when you aren’t a man anymore?  What happens when you become a lousy crumb of a monster?

I never thought I would look at Death the way I do now.   I think of it as a dear friend that has many faces.   Every time I meet him he reminds me I’m still human.   …or her if you prefer.  Who knows if death is really just a fancy date with some black cloaked dish.

Humans die.  It’s what we do.   We eat, we sleep, and we kiss off.

Death is only a setback.  Odd as it is to say it, it’s true.   Well, at least for me.   When I die, I’m just inconvenienced and I’m wiser for it.

Experience is supposed to make you a better person too.   So I’ve been told.   But I beg to differ.  I’ve lived, I’ve loved, and I’ve died.  Believe it or not, you can get used to anything, even death.   That sort of scares me.  What sort of person doesn’t fear death?

I stare now into a dark room.  That’s what happens when you die.   You die it goes dark, and that’s it.  You’re dead.

I must be dead now.  I can’t see anything, and I can’t hear anything, and I can’t feel anything either.   That’s what it means to be dead, right?  I’m not even sure if I have arms, or legs, or a face.   I don’t have the energy to check.  I don’t feel like I’m breathing either.   I must be dead.

People that die are alone.   I’m alone now, so that is further evidence towards me being dead.  Dead people don’t need friends, they don’t need anything really, except for maybe a Chicago overcoat and some flowers.  Can’t smell or taste either, so fat lotta good that’d do me.   I can’t even taste my own mouth.

However, I am still thinking. So that must mean I still exist.   Does existence persist through death?  If that’s the case does that make we the walking dead?  Something like a Nosferatu from the reels?

If that’s what I was, I would be thirsty or hungry.   I’m neither, but I certainly feel empty.

Dying I can deal with, but how do you stop existing?  Do you just blink out and ‘poof’ you’re gone?  Is it like a moment that vanishes when you blink?   Is it just a missed opportunity?

I don’t think I can’t see because it’s just dark, I think it might be because I have no eyes.  Can I not vanish cause I have no eyes to blink with?

I just don’t mean my eyes.   I mean all of me.  What does it mean when that’s gone?  What does it mean when you can’t appreciate air?  What does it mean when you just, live to take up space?

I would probably feel better about everything if I was good at other things other than dying, but I’m really not.  I’ve let down my friends, I’ve let down my family,

I’ve let her down.

I’m just here.

You know, existing.

Death is final,

…or at least that’s what I thought.

Death makes me feel like I am a monster.  They call me a Dimanagul.  By their book I’m worse than a grease ball; I am a bone-fide monster.

However I know now, Death isn’t final; it’s just a reminder that life is fragile.  It’s a reminder that no man is invulnerable, even if he is immortal.  It is a reminder that no matter how many chances you have…

…you can still fail.

I have failed.

I’m sorry.