Inflictions bleed into wounds

This is my euology. Would you please hear me out?

I don't know if a life's last words can have any value or not. Most likely not. But still, even still knowing they hold no value, would you still hear me out? Just this one time, I don't care for what reason. Just do it.

Sit down on a chair, isolate your surrounding and take a part of your day to read this. You don't have to finish it today, nor tomorrow, just sometime.

If you've agreed then let me preface this by saying "thank you." I don't know what I am right now, or how I feel. But if at least one person knows about this, I feel like maybe It'll be slightly better. Only marginally better, I deserve no more but do I not even deserve that?

Without any further introduction I shall get right to it. I don't want to bore you any longer than I have to.

Life is strange. From as far back as I can remember I was a normal boy, a farmer's son, I could still recall my life back then, sowing the land, drinking cold tea at the end of a day of hard work. I remember thinking there was no better feeling in this world than drinking something cold on a hot summer day. Such a simple life was led by me. Only me. So when did it all go wrong? How could such a simple kid grow up to have such a devastating effect on the world? How is it that I grew to have this immense power and control over the world. Why?

I miss my old life.

It was all because of her.

I could still remember her; sitting across from me with her legs cross. I remember thinking she melted into her seat like ice on a mildly hot day. We sat together in a completely empty room...no empty is rather inaccurate, it wasn't empty, it's just there was nothing there. Empty may imply that something was supposed to be there but isn't. However it wasn't empty. It was void. There was nothing. Only us two, two chairs and nothing else. Not walls, not air, nothing. Complete void.

Why have I come to be able to meet with such a being I wonder? How was it that I was able to have such chats with her?

Do I miss our conversations? Or has it caused too much pain to be worthy of reminiscence? I don't know.

Back then I was called 'The Historian' or just 'Historian', quite an unimaginative name, to be called by your job. But there wasn't anyone else like me around so I suppose 'Historian' was a name rather than a job title for me.

As a Historian, I've had a very colorful life. Along with my companion Zima we traveled everywhere, we saw many stories, I inscribed them while she mostly just played around. I wonder how Zima lived after I left? Was she alright? Was she happy? I failed her in a way I could never undo. Zima was a cheerful brown skinned girl who I met in one of the villages I traveled to. She had no parents, no family, nothing. She was a girl out of place, she belonged nowhere. Her historical value was zero. It was as if a blank slate was applied on her existence.

She had nowhere, so she just started following me around, she was a moody girl, sometimes you'd find her cheerful, dancing around a camp fire, others you'd find her sulking while laying on her back staring at the sky.

I never asked for her to come, but soon enough I got used to having her around, I stopped questioning what her purpose was at some point along the way, she was just there.

I remember she kept asking why history was so interesting to me and I would keep explaining to her through examples and exciting stories. But she never understood, in the end our mentalities were too different. I remember thinking back then "she'll understand when she grows up more, she's only 19 years old and has a long way to go." Who would've thought that, in the end, it was the other way around.

I miss her.

Back then I was still young, 33 years of age. I still entertained childish luxuries such as the pursuit of knowledge and truth. I was thirsty like no other, and my thirst for knowledge could never be quenched. Holding such dream ideas in my head I moved forward. But as it turned out the world doesn't allow for such childish ideals to go on for much longer. If I could turn back time I would throw them away at once. But unfortunately as of now, turning back time is one of the few things I can't do.

And now here I am, I don't know how old I am. But I know for sure that Zima is now long gone. I really hope she grew up to be an old lady, I often like to imagine her as an old lady swinging in her chair on the porch of a tiny house in the outskirts surrounded by her children. That's a thought I often have. It brings me to tears. I really am the worst, fantasizing about a situation where I don't have to feel as guilty.

It all just went to shit. It all did. Everything.

This world is broken. And it's my fault. I have become it, death. I'm the destroyer of worlds. The little farmer boy, me. Even you, now reading this, have probably suffered due to something I caused. And it was all because of 'her'.

She took me during my travels, she sat in front of me in her void room, the lady that can hear your thoughts. And we talked. We talked on and on for days, or was it perhaps years? Time had little meaning in that room.

Before I joined her in that room I had died. Or died may not be the correct word. I rather gave away my soul. During my travels as a historian I managed to access a place called "The Gate." I had been tracking that rumor for quite a few years during my travels, and then one day I finally managed to find it. It was said that the gate possessed knowledge beyond human comprehension.

And inside that gate is when I met her. It all started with her. Her. It.

And now here I am. Overlooking a the man I turned into a rat to fix my mistakes staring at the man I had hope in before. I can see the pieces I set in motion playing. They play. They play but what right do I have to move them? I don't know. But I do it anyways. I have to.

I have to make sure, in order to fix the horrid infliction on this world, that today, the man I once had hope for, ends up dead.

That is the will. And the will shall be enforced.

Goodbye, my friend.