My Life with Death

EPILOGUE

 I was convicted of murdering a man who killed for fun. He won and escaped punishment, and I lost and ended up in limbo, at the very least. Just as he predicted, he was right about everything.

Now, as I sit here with tears in my eyes and answers received, I walk into the truth and reality of this world. I confided in the heavens and the stars that ran out into the dark sky at night and the sun's rays until I lost sight of them. I became a prisoner with my host. I watched the abomination of man and did nothing. I was running from the past. I was running away from problems. My whole life, I ran away instead of facing them. It was always better for me to run than to fight.

I dedicated my life to science, which, in the end, did not help me. I was so desperately searching for the truth about my life that I forgot about the life I had. I became poison to my friends, to my family, to my greatest love, to my blood. I became poison to myself. Even though I haven't pulled the trigger yet, I feel like I pulled it years ago. It was as if I had injected the worst of poisons into my blood, the most deadly.

I have devoted my whole life to working with death. First, I negotiated justice for creatures that perished many millions of years in the past and then for human beings - victims of cruel acts in the present. But I couldn't do justice to one being, to my mother. I have spent my whole life searching for the truth of why she had to die, and I finally see that I was blinded all along by those I trusted and loved. Lies interweaved my whole life like the thorns of wild roses in a fairytale land, and just like the thorns of thorns that cause pain and wounds, my life was full of pain and wounds that brought me to the brink of life and death.

The fact that my whole life was a lie destroyed me—years of torture in the form of riddles and gestures hidden behind a heartless game. I was supposed to be a foreign woman with a different demeanor. A woman is full of desire—a woman fighting for justice.

In a way, we were similar. And more than I thought, the desire that drove us to action. Anger and anger towards the people who made us unhappy. Those who stood in our way had a desire to kill and erase from our lives. He did it, and so did I, eventually. When I found out who Kent was, I became obsessed and determined to hurt him. Kill him. Take revenge. But now, after the act I committed, I somewhat regret than feel the relief and security I longed for. I know that no one can save, no one can heal. I'm going to die soon. There is no cure.

I have often looked death in the face as a victim and a murderer. But I've never died so slowly. So desperately and so indeed. Without a shred of hope.

Am I dying?

Yes, I'm dying.

Slowly and painfully.