I live... live on... for what purpose? I do not know. The world stares at me and I stare back. The contempt is mutual. I am weary and cant wait for the sweet liberation of Death. I do not fear Death nor despise it. I do not picture a dark hooded figure with a cleaver waiting to hack my soul to pieces. I am waiting for the angel of Death.
I do not want Heaven. I do not picture meadows where lilies and roses blossom. I do not want to hear sweet ditties sung by angels playing harps. I do not want to feast nor drink. I want freedom. I want Death.
What transpires through a person's mind when he is about to jump from the precipice of a hill or the tallest building he could find? The last leap to freedom, the final flight of a man while he is falling to certain death... It must be exhilarating. I am sure he must have a smile of defiance playing on his lips. Finally, despite all the conspiracies of Universe, he takes control of his life, looks Life in the eye, lets it go and embraces Death. He is the real Hero.
But I am no hero. So I keep staring in disgust. I am waiting for the beautiful sensation of Death to find me. I am waiting...