Pain is all I feel. The pain is so great, so overwhelmingly immense that it seems to have completely dominated my emotions and my mentality, erasing them from my mind entirely, as well as soon making anything other than pain null and void to me. The damage dealt to me is far beyond repair. My body has become a soulless husk, and it feels as if my mind has merely become a spectator of sorts, watching through the eyes of my breaking body as it wanders aimlessly through the plagued wastes of my ruined world. Yet, in spite of it feeling as such, I still feel everything my body is feeling. It feels as if my mind doesn’t even make sense of anything anymore, like it has become too damaged and decayed to make its own decisions. My body just does things without my mind’s interference or supervision, like I’ve lost all control of my physical self. I try to convince myself that I will die soon, but I know now, that no matter how long I wait, no matter how hard I try to make it happen, and no matter how much I plead to the gods, the harbinger of death will never come to me and use his gentle, guiding hand to take me to the afterlife and set me free from my torment.
If I died and went to Hell, then it wouldn’t feel much different. If anything, it would feel better than what my life has become. The pain and agony I’ve suffered is far greater than anything anyone could ever imagine, even beyond the most painful of punishments served to the loathsome sinners of Hell. The sickness I bear, it has ridden me and my world of all life, staining the skies a deep black and painting the soil an infectiously deep brown. My body is beyond any sort of recognition, and it has lost all resemblance to its original state. The only detail that remains after my grueling transformation are the bright red stripes that I’ve borne across my arms since the day I birthed into existence. These marks are the very things that have written my original destiny as a demon, which I once believed was to massacre endlessly until the day I inevitably pass. I want nothing more than to die. I’ve borne this suffering for long enough, and the pain has become troublesome to bear. My body has lost itself and the mentally troubled mind it harbors. It’s essentially a sort of physical hysteria.
My body has walked aimlessly for many years, as if in search of something or someone to assist in alleviating its agony. My agony. Once more, I feel everything my body feels, despite feeling as if my mind is a mere spectator of my body. I can feel entire chunks of my ink colored skin melting and plopping off of my body. I can feel the great fatigue that comes as a result of dangerous blood loss. I can feel my organs and innards constantly being contorted and ripped apart inside and out by the insects that inhabit my body, and all forms of the ruining plague. I seem to stand alone as a survivor of the viral plague; I’ve never noticed any others around me as my body continues to travel throughout the wastes of my crumbling world. All that matters to me now is to find a way to finally end my life, and strip me of my pain. There is no cure and no way to erase the agony and damage, so the only way out is to die. I must die. I need to die. It
is the only way I can be free. But, I wonder, how does one who cannot be taken by death finally end their life? I hope to find a way.
I must die.
I must die.
I must die.
– Iago
