Outrunning Our Afterlives: Cradle To Death

The illusion of living

Another day, isn't it? That's all it ever was. Another day.

I forced my tear ridden eyes open. I would rather look at nothing than see that again. "I have hardly any recollection." What kind of bullshit is that? What kind of bullshit do I have spout everyday to keep myself within even the same zip code as my sanity? What am I still here for?

A loud thud had snapped me out of my thoughts. I have fallen onto the floor without realizing I was falling at all. At least I had my clothes to cushion my fall, though, I really ought to clean it. I didn't anyway, rolling over to look up at the ceiling. I couldn't see properly, but I had managed to make out the lines scraped into the ceiling by the millions. Each line representing a suicide attempt that was unsuccessful. I don't know why I continue to scrape the lines every time. I would never bother to count them one day. I suppose I did it as a way to contain my sanity, no matter how much I despised the memories.

A click of a door opening, accompanied by footsteps. "Hey kid, what'cha doing on the floor?" She asked me, "Bad dream again?" I chuckled a little, it was kinda funny. "Bad dream? Treating me like a 5 year old? I'm older than you by this point! What are you, 15?" A deafening silence followed. I understood that about 7 seconds too late. "Sorry.." "No, it's fine. You still see me as an older sister.." "No, I'm really sorry, I am!" I turned over to look at her, sitting up. "I know you are, Xiang. You always are." She stepped out of the room, closing the door. I laid back down on the piles of my clothes on the floor.

Why did I say that? What's stopping me from chasing after her? Why aren't I chasing after her to explain? I should be chasing after her to explain. I'm not though. I'm just laying on the floor in a pile of dirty clothes I haven't worn in months. It smells like horseshit. I don't get up.

I regained consciousness when I hear my father's voice above me. "Xiang! Don't be lazy my baby boy! I want you to do some thing for me!" Cool air hit my skin as he pulled away the blanket. I don't like the cold. It's scary. I know that's childish though. "Ewww! Did you shit yourself?" Father exclaims, I look over at my pants. They are in fact, shit stained. "Don't worry about it.." I mumbled. The words could barely fit in my mouth, how could they? I'm a full grown man and I just shit myself in my sleep. "Don't tell me I have to potty train you again! Did you get too lazy to go to the bathroom after 4 billion years?" Father giggled. I don't like his giggle, it's incomprehensible. 

"Don't worry of it, father. I will manage it if you tell me what is it you ask of me." I lied. I don't know why I lied. I suppose I want him out of my room, even though he's everywhere anyway. "Well, I just need you to obtain this man, can you do that for me? It's for The Consentist!" He seemed happy. I nodded, telling him I would do it.

He left my room. I closed my eyes in my shit-stained pants. Son of a bitch, I'm a pathetic excuse of a man. Father doesn't seem to think so, though.

One might believe that would make me feel better, but my father also thinks that morals don't apply to him, like cuddling rotting corpses for example. So that does not make me feel any better. Of course, father has his limits, he refuses the entire concept of pedophila and sexual assault, which I can suppose can allow me to pass him off as just morally idiotic, but he also is willing to mentally torture children into suicide and feed their organs to me in order to fulfill a purpose I never asked him to serve.

I'm mentally ill. That part has become so obvious that I'm pretty sure even my son has picked up on it. We used to fight a lot. I don't remember why anymore. I think it was something about his mother, but half the time I forget he has a mother at all. I never really had one. I know my sister is my biological mother, but even if it weren't for the fact I forget it so much, I could never see her that way. She was my sister. My older sister who tried so hard to ignore the existence of me and my father because both of those things should've never been a part of her life in the first place.

I don't blame her for my birth. She couldn't protect herself at that time. She was a frail teenager who didn't know that her teacher was only being nice to her for..

Nevermind.

It's sickening to think about, a teacher taking advantage of their student. I don't hold my head high knowing I'm the result of a sick man's perverse actions. I feel sick. I know I don't have a good relationship with my sister. I never have. I don't blame her for trying to stay as far away from me as possible during my childhood, she thinks I look like him. I know she does. I know every time she looks at my face and tries to imagine a boy she would want anything to do with, she sees her teacher.

I met him once. I don't think I look like him at all, but "beat him to a pulp" was nowhere near enough to describe what I did to this sick man. He is not my father, no matter what anyone says. The closest thing I have to a father is Malware. Even if some part of me hates him with every bone in my body. His actions are a result of my existence.

I need to die and save everyone.