The Watching Ghost

Watch

He forgot somewhat who he is, but there still exists a little recollection, he was someone who would get most things done if he put his mind to it. Perhaps that was the prime factor which clawed and bled his existence the most, that essential trait that he had felt defined him, that trait which, to most people, would have been praiseworthy, was the one that took it's way. And with each second that passed, his own presence sharpened his senses and shook his being, his consciousness likened itself to an eagle trapped in a cage, still with all of it's vigor and strength, yet the metal cage will not budge no matter how terrible his struggle was. 

It was the first time he had tasted inconceivability and it was a strange taste. Although that didn't trouble him the most, his comprehension has blurred out that, everything that he had once believed might have been betrayed but that little thing far dwarfs what he is going through. It was the fact that he was still here, waiting for something to happen, he watched the world around him and attempted to form an observation, a commentary, the nature of his suffering, something, anything to entertain himself with but it would seem pointless as no one was there to hear it. 

Every once in a while he would habitually look at his hand, in a desperate last-hitched attempt to assert linearity in time as he once did at his watch, but it will not last and eventually, came an idea. He had made out a world where he and his idealistic people lived and everything branched out from there. He felt they were too two dimensional and he had kept going, every detail he refined and took pains to draw out. Soon he realized that he had felt comforted by the tales he had spun and he was suddenly frightened by the fact that he might just lose the ability to spin tales to entertain himself. 

And quickly he had stopped the tale he spun in the middle of it, so it would not end, so he would not have to give it an ending. It no longer entertained him as the very thought of returning to the solitude with nothing else to hope for, compel him to stop making the story, which he realized would have also gotten stale if he just kept artificially extending its length. 

Then, it kept going. He watches and kept watching. And it kept going, and he did not know the amount of time that has passed but he just wanted it to end, he wanted to die, but nothing in this world would grant him that, so he prayed to all the deities that he knew of but none will answer. He denounced them at last and found all the words he could use to profane them, after which, he seek forgiveness then profaned them again. And eventually, even that cycle has gotten stale. So, with the last of his hope, he clung onto the tales he had made and finished it, the happiness was as fleeting as everything else as he soon realized it was the return to solitude and the emptiness.  

Until he found a brilliant idea, he shall keep repeating everything that he had thought of, willing himself out of the state he was in, to remembering who he was, to commenting on the state of the world he was in, to making stories to entertain himself, it was what he thought was the ultimate solution to this problem when it patently wasn't. He was once again standing on the cliff by the abyss, a tightrope stretched between despair and nothingness. Each destination undesirable and indescribable, a tingling of madness has finally settled in. 

That which would have relieved him of all needs, that which would have made him finally free of all these humanly and instinctual obligation to think and entertain himself. It did not happen, nothing was granted to him. It would seem, he has reached the end of the line, and it was at this point perhaps hope has re-surfaced again with not a damned chance of being dashed. It was literally, in the physical plain of this existence that it would have been impossible, inconceivable and out of any calculations, that this hope would be crushed as he was at the end. The end of his sufferings and tortures, everything that could be done has been done, and for once and finally, he was right. Everything that could have been done has been done, everything that could be conceived was conceived. 

So he stayed and watch for all of eternity.