Pale Fragments

whisper into the void

The thick and sharp paint of memory distilled a hundred times is what I have to offer you (along with glorious whimsy). Murky, yes, it is. Allow your mind to fill in the gaps until you don't see, but know because you feel (hopefully). Trust that the cans beside my easel will be empty by the time we've finished; and then I will go to the sink and collect the paint that's stained my skin, and use that, too. Next, the tears absorbed in my apron. Last, the blood from my blistered hands.

The Goddess did not tell me these stories with the expression of hindsight. She relived the tales she spoke, and I know she repeated words exchanged with perfect accuracy, though I do not claim the same; and in doing so, with full pain of voice and wetness of cheek—parts of her body she never needed to create—she relieved herself of these self-given agonies to me, but more for you. I do my best to recreate the weight her words gave me, but understand you are feeling what I felt as she felt what she felt when these things occurred.

In the years following his brother's death, Anders compiled files given to him by the Robot, files which concerned Xadrin's path to the end of his life. The Robot felt responsible...for what specifically, at the time, she didn't (won't?) know, or at least had not yet fully accepted realization of within herself.

This begins Anders' compilation dedicated to making sense of his older brother's death, the only primary source I was given by the Goddess to keep for myself to edit and copy from directly:

*

Xadrin pasted this at the top of everything he wrote the last year of his life:

Nobody will ever read this. This is a whisper into the void. This understanding strains my heart. Of course it is eased through believing, "No, no. These words are important. This story is essential. It means something. Someday it will be recognized." It does mean something; it means something to me. It really does. It means more to me in anonymity than blinded by the tugging lights of fame. Here there is room for sincerity and courage in the face of memory's complete annihilation. And even if this story becomes recognized, famous, and is read by everyone in the entire world, the sun will destroy the Earth. Homer will be forgotten right along with this unpublished story when the Internet crashes and my Google Drive is obliterated. This acceptance is required for the artist. We paint with invisible ink on a canvas which will be burned tomorrow, middle fingers raised to the sky and piss running down our legs as we shout, "Fuck infinity, I am here, now. And that is enough."

Start of suicide note:

To my family:

I don't know how to start this letter. How to start?

"If you're reading this I'm dead"?

"If you found my note, then that means I actually did it"?

"I decided to be Baptized"?

I know that no matter how I start it that I won't be hurting you any less. I know that what I'm doing is selfish. I know it is. And I'm sorry for causing you pain. But I need to look out for myself. I am the only one who has to carry my pain. Only I get to decide what to do with it, just as you get to decide what to do with yours.

I can't do this anymore. I just can't, and I wouldn't want to if I could.

I want to tell you why. For a few reasons. I think you deserve to know; I didn't want to leave you asking questions for the rest of your lives. I don't want you to remember me. I don't want you to carry a weight because of me. Just continue on with your lives and be happy with the good experiences you shared with me.

I think it's important for people to know why we do what we do and why we believe in what you would call mass suicide. We're not savages. We're not anarchists. We're not terrorists. We're just doing what we sincerely feel is right. I need to try and show you this.

I love you all, so much. I know I didn't always act like it, but you all meant so much to me. In my final moments I think it will help me to write everything out, to try and justify myself as best I can to the people who are closest to me. I know that it will mean nothing in the end. It will all be okay. But while I'm still living within an illusion of consciousness, I need to do all I can to reduce my pain.