The death of the world as I knew it

Philosophy in a pit full of fire

It was a pleasure to burn.

All-consuming was the only way to describe it. Incomprehensibly and overwhelmingly all-consuming. There was no central point, no exact location of the pain (that would make it too treatable, too... logical), this pain was most definitely as far from the simple as possible.

I felt hollow inside. I knew my heart was beating, I knew my blood was pumping, I knew my body, my body MUST be awake; and yet I couldn't feel it. I had imagined it would feel as if I had been cut open, but it was much more than that. Much more than just a gaping wound in my chest that could be solved by stitches. This was not, could not, be fixable; it was permanent, and by determining my fate, my mind had time to accept the knoledge that I was damned from the start. I wish my mother had been given that priviledge.

Anyway, that was the point, after all, that it was different.

It's what made it irresistible to a human such as myself, a collector of fleeting experiences from our unremarkably short lives, it was a tool to measure our lives by, and it would be invaluable.

I breathed out. Focusing on forcing the air out of my body, moving every muscle towards the darkness and away from the fire that engulfed me, trying not to feed it's flames.

The phrase 'I will not be consumed' seemed an appropriate thing to say to my companions; but due to their passing, it seemed irrelevant now. More likely, it should be 'I will be consumed', for if death is inevitable for those living I would choose eternity, and take pleasure in the pain.