MORTAL ⇴ DYSTOPIAN

Ch. 3

[ CHAPTER 3: THE FINAL DAY ]

Death is inevitable.

Death is nature. Death is as much a part of existence, as life. Death is destiny for all that exists. Death is something that eventually, you cannot cheat out of.
Death is natural.
But now, we have made it not to be.
Now, the end of life is something against nature. We force it upon ourselves, upon existence, upon society.
Death is inevitable, now, in the worst way possible. Death is artificial.

When death is given to you, the worst gift wrapped in pleasant wrapping paper, you find yourself giving up.
What's the point of trying anymore?
It would all end, anyway. It would all be in vain.
I sometimes find it quite humorous, actually. How ridiculous it is to see how society sees our deadline as something to comfort. No unexpected surprises. So sudden accidents. No danger.
Perfect safety.

I have given up long ago trying to tell others what a sad, meaningless life that leads.
I have given up long ago trying to speak of how we live in no utopia.
I have given up long ago trying to care for others.
Now, I only have myself. An island of isolation in a sea of others. Now, no one else truly matters but I.
They do not care about me.
Why should I care about them?

The utter defeat you feel when you discover the end of your life is something you cannot witness without experiencing.
The very meaning of existence becomes blurred. It does not matter to you anymore; what becomes of you, what you do, what decisions you make, what mistakes you stumble across.
Because it really doesn't matter, after all.
The feeling of absolute emptiness.
The true feeling of giving up.

I have long been hopeless, now.
Sometime after I received my Death Date, my scar, my deadline, I have utterly given up. Let myself fall into the blackness of no more.
Because now, that no longer mattered.

I watched my grades fall.
My reputation slipped, before collapsing all together. I have had many after school conversations with my teacher.
I have received many punishments.
I stopped paying attention in class. I stopped paying attention to my parents, to my peers.
I stopped paying attention to life.
Because now, life did not matter anymore.
It was artificial. Each move plastic and fake.
Just like death.
We have ruined ourselves, and we can't even see it.

Each day passes by, like just another raindrop on a window.
Day by day, hour by hour, second by second. It all becomes a hazy blur, eventually.
And then, I wake up, and it's my final day being alive.

It is January 14th.
3048.

My breath hitches in my throat as I gaze at my alarm clock.
Suddenly, everything becomes real.
Realer through my eyes than it had in a very, very long time.
Every piece of furniture in my room, every breath I take, every blink of my eyes. Existence becomes real.
Crystal clear, quite suddenly. As if the hazy blur from the past months had disappeared; dried up so quickly it vanished without a trace.