What comes after?

I was what one would consider a problem child. It all started when I was 5, my mother passed away during a cash-in-transit heist: a stray bullet had struck her... By the time paramedics arrived on the scene, nothing could be done to save her. Given the fact that I had no father and my grandparents weren't around anymore, I went to live with my abusive aunt and uncle. They were far from being the most deplorable of people, but I still despised them nonetheless.

They would treat me poorly behind closed doors, while flaunting my successes to all of their friends and colleagues as if they had assisted me in achieving them. They liked the idea of having a child whom they could brag about, but never put any effort into raising said child. I was often neglected, and when I wasn't, it was usually to parade me around and show how wonderful a family we were. And don't even get me started on what would happen when something hadn't gone well at work. I would hide from my uncle in particular, as he would often get into a drunken stupor after a night out.

At least I was afforded many academic opportunities I suppose... Both my uncle and aunt worked in high-paying jobs, and as such I went to the best schools there were to offer. I was an exceptionally bright child, by the time I was 12 years old I was already doing work meant for those 5 years my senior. However, due to this seeming intelligence, I would experience issues associating with peers and couldn't seem to fit in with those older than me either. And so I lived a life of isolation, not bothering to try to make friends with those around me anymore.

After finishing my academic pursuits at the age of 13, I would try my hand at petty crimes while trying to find purpose in my life... It was during one of my excursions in which I got caught, that I would go on to be scouted by a certain organisation that wanted to invest in my future. Having nothing waiting for me back at home, I left my aunt and uncle behind- Instead deciding to join said organisation and losing my old identity in the process. There I learned things that would be useful to me in the future. From basic combat training to how the world worked behind the scenes. How to manipulate others and how to avoid becoming an unwitting victim of these manipulation techniques. 

They were training hundreds of people to become shadows who would help them pull strings on a global scale from behind the scenes. And why i would allow myself to become a pawn you might ask? Simple really: I had no other purpose at the time. It seemed as though the rest of my life would be meaningless, I felt as though I wasnt moving forward and saw this as an opportunity to do something with my life. The organisation seemed to be a way to distract me from my nihilistic views.

I would assume that I was doing exceptionally well there, given the fact that they would constantly provide more resources and attention to my development than most of the others there at the time. During one of my more intense lessons however, I had come to realise just how disposable I was. I had felt dizzy and fell to the floor during the lesson. After examining the reason behind my lack of coordination, they found that I had a rare degenerative neurological disorder called Creutzfeldt-Jakob's Disease. this disease results in the failure of simple brain functions such as coordination, and normal thinking processes. It could develop symptoms similar to those of Alzheimer's and cause loss of speech and movement. It tends to be fatal within less than a year... It was weird that it afflicted me, as it usually only affects those above 60 years of age. As weird as it was, it didn't change the fact that I had it. I was considered a lost cause, as it was pointless to invest any more resources into a dead man.

And so there I was barely 17 years old, waiting for them to kill me... After all, what else could they do with me. It's not as if they could let me go and live the rest of my short life in the outside world. And it had already been established that I was a lost cause, so trying to keep me alive would have been a pointless waste of resources. And so I resigned myself to death, struggling would be pointless as they would take me by force if I didn't cooperate.

As I sat waiting for someone to inevitably put me out of my misery, I started to contemplate life. What was my purpose? I had spent my life doing nothing of importance, nothing notable. And the purpose that I thought I'd found in the organisation was no more... I then thought about what came after death. Would there be nothing? Was heaven or hell a real place? And if so what would happen to me? My brain was running through all the possibilities when someone abruptly opened the door to my room.

It was time... I was taken down a dark staircase into a dimly lit room akin to a surgeons operating theatre. There was a lady sitting on a chair waiting for me to arrive. She took a look at me and then at a file on her lap and sighed.

She instructed the guard to place me on the operating table and restrain my arms and legs. He did as she said and I didn't resist. It was either this, or dying a slow death, losing motor function, speech and eventually forgetting my own name. Anyone could see which was a better option.

The woman then proceeded to fill an injection with a liquid; presumably pentobarbital- a chemical typically used for euthanasia. I steeled my resolve and waited for the injection. And then when she administered it, I slowly felt my consciousnesses fading and my muscles relaxing as my heart slowly ceased it's beating. I was sad that my life had ended before it had even begun, I had been alive but never actually "lived"; I'd never found something truly worth devoting my life to. And before my consciousness had completely faded, I silently wished that there was something after death.