When I was six, I learned I was nothing more than a face amongst many. When I was twelve, I understood that my parents weren't the saints I thought they were. When I was fifteen, I realized life was far harder than I had previously imagined. I was twenty-one, when I took my own life… The pain in my neck as the razor-sharp blade dug into my skin was painful, still it wasn't worth mentioning compared to the pain of Life. Thus, my story ended, leaving naught but regrets and sufferings for myself, and for those I left behind.
Death was calming. Perhaps it was my lack of faith in any kind of deity, but I wasn't greeted by an afterlife, just never-ending Darkness– A Void of undisturbed nothingness, forever digging away at my sanity. Yet, even then, it didn't scare me, not the way Life did, not the way changes did. I was scared of the nothingness, but I was terrified by the ever-changing river of Life. The anxiety, the loneliness even as I lived within a sea of people, fear of what the Future held. Life was too much to bear, and I was done with it.
Unfortunately… It wasn't done with me.
It started with a flash of light.
A burst of movements.
It had disturbed the nothingness.
Cold and unfeeling.
Its claws(?) dug into the fabric of my existence.
And within moments, I was taken away.
My personal Heaven, that calming Darkness gone.
Replaced by a sea of all-consuming Flame and mournful screams.
… That moment I knew, Life had gotten its hold on me once more.
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