Is the end of life any more special than a second of breathing?
Epsilon blinked, pain shooting up from his stomach.
Poor things, existing for so long, and having so little happiness.
He tried to breathe, and immediately regretted it. His ribs were on fire, the ground below him slick with blood.
What even is death? For in the eyes of a mortal, it is the event in which they cease to be conscious, yet energy cannot be created nor destroyed, so is there any point in viewing 'death' as such?
His blood. Epsilon almost wanted to throw up, which probably wouldn't help his situation. Then again, he was dying.
Every event in the past has led up to this point, and now this event is another stepping stone into the future. Others' lives will be changed from this event. Your life has already changed the course of so many other people's lives...
He couldn't tell if the heat was from the lava or from his blood. At that point, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
You know, the world around you is special. The rocks you are lying on, they have a story to tell. The birds in the trees on Earth, they have their tales as well. Everything speaks, if only one can bear to hear it.
His body was turned over, and a yellow helmet filled his gaze, gloves pressing into the gaping wound on his abdomen. Perhaps she was saying something to him. Epsilon, despite his best attempts, couldn't hear anything.
If you think about it, everything is made of stardust. Matter and energy are recycled. Ever since the beginning of the universe, the same materials circle throughout the world. Soon, when your bones have been crushed to dust, they will sink into the earth, which will feed a plant, which will feed another animal.
Epsilon resisted the urge to look down at the wound, which he was sure looked worse than it felt. He reached up, hand cupping Justice's helmet. How many things did he want to say? How many things did he need to say?
Who knows, perhaps reincarnation does exist, on a scale. Perhaps your consciousness will fade away. Perhaps a piece of your soul will find rest. Perhaps you will linger on, the mark you made on this world too deep to rub away. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
That she shouldn't blame herself? That it was Epsilon's choice to die for her? 'Kiddo, don't worry, everything's gonna be okay,' 'hey, this will all work out in the end,' 'bloody hell'?! Make a dad joke, or be serious?
Even if you fear death, is it really what you think it is? If everything is an embodiment of your mind... maybe you aren't going to die. Maybe it's simply another journey you need to take.
He still felt himself slipping. Despite Justice's attempts to save him. He was too far gone now. He could let go.
Most of the life you have lived has been an illusion. Your mind bends things so that you can comprehend. Maybe that's the secret to the world, how many different consciousnesses exist, because each person bends the world to their own liking.
Should his life be flashing before his eyes now? All he could think about were those moments, pushing Justice aside, and then the blinding pain.
There is no distinguishing between gods and those who keep a god's memory alive, is there?
He didn't have to take the attack. He could have let his hesitation win. But what kind of father would he be if he let that happen? Parents shouldn't have to watch their children die before they do. That wasn't how it worked.
Ah, well. In your relatively short amount of time here in this world, you've experienced more than some do in a hundred years. Now, can you hear it? The song of peace? The lull that promises to house you, be a nest to a bird?
Epsilon's hand went slack, and he felt his arm fall to the ground. His fingertips left trails of crimson down Justice's helmet. The life of his heart, the water of his soul, now on the face of his legacy.
No matter what you think of death, it's inevitable. If you think that your soul will face judgment, if you will be reborn, if you think you will simply cease to exist, does it matter? All that matters is the ripples that your actions have already created, how many lives you have touched.
His vision started to blur and he thought he could see Indigo, leaning down to place a hand on Justice's shoulder. A small smile played at the corners of his lips. Perhaps a broken and tattered legacy was never supposed to be. Perhaps it could be happy, filled with joy.
You don't fear death itself. You fear being forgotten. When your name is uttered for the last time, you will truly die. When your presence has been filtered out from the world, that is when you cease to exist. You cannot mourn something you don't know exists.
Time would move on. He had lived and loved, taught and was taught, guided others by his actions, healed them with his words. And others would take his place.
Lives are always being enriched by others. Soon, your name will be but a whisper in the wind, until another scoops it up and claims it as theirs, and you will be but a ghost of memory.
Justice's shoulders were shaking, and she slowly pressed her helmet to Epsilon's, the sound of her sobs twisting a knife into Epsilon's heart. He forced himself to take in another breath, his last words barely a whisper.
Do not worry. Even though this path might have ended, anything else afterwards is still unwritten. Who's to say that this is the end? Though you wander through the valley of shadows, through the rivers of death, do not fear any evil, for you have all the strength of a god.
"Love ya, kiddo."
YOU ARE READING
Command: Past is Present
Hayran Kurgu"We've learned from our mistakes, Altera. Enough blood has already been shed." "That didn't stop the start of World War III, did it?" "No. It didn't. But it ended it." "Human minds are just sacs of salt interacting with proteins. Even now, you live...
