The allure of death

Death – the unknown that is terrifying for most and desired by a few. A mystery that opens up once and for all. It is an inescapable end (beginning) for every living being. The humanity worships it, fears it, tries to understand and fight it.

As a rule death is not something anyone wishes upon anybody or at the least oneself. The survival instinct makes sure we struggle till the time runs out. However, sometimes a glitch happens and the world gets individuals who crave it.

Life becomes a tedious interlude before the blessed relief comes.

I itched for it since I could remember myself. In the beginning it was subtle, just a childish spite. A thrill that teasingly licked the nerves, whispering wonders into naive and eager for miracles ears.

Sweet dreams filled with bloodshed and cemetery calmness enchanted the innocence, and, suddenly the longing became unbearable.

The bones ached, and the skin around the soul became impossibly tight. Little nails were scratching at it trying to get rid of the suffocating meat-sack.

The survival instinct kicked in. The fear zapped the being but it wasn’t enough to quench the desire, thus, the guilt came.

I surrendered to the common sense. The torture began.

A twisted little thing with a tendency to see beyond the standard, struggling to keep the sharp tongue in check. A bashful duckling, cursed by the alien wishes  and aversion to the human socializing, dogmas, rules – life.

A head filled with epic stories. The worlds were born and died inside. Heroes, villains – evil and goodness – love and betrayal – the emotional hurricane – the tale of Gods – real life bored the creator to tears.

Alienated and ignored, trying to fit in for stupidly embarrassing reasons. Why the hell you try to be like them? Torn apart by “what should be” and “what I want to be” – the thirst for death returned tenfold.

It was always there, whispering soothingly. It promised that the nightmare can end at any second – one step, one slice of the knife, one pill – freedom.

I wanted it but was reluctant to give in.

The nature of a fighter. It is not in a character to give up. Push harder, go farther. Dreams are meant to be dreamt. Life is meant to be lived.

Still, the allure is impossibly strong. The distraction doesn’t work flawlessly. The life for all its glory and vibrancy is not what I wish for. I yearn for death – sometimes fleetingly, sometimes strongly, barely able to hold on to illusions I’ve created; running out of the excuses and reasons to stay.

I stay purely out of stubbornness.

I climb to the rooftops, knees shaking, terror squeezing my throat and I shout:

“Come take me, bastard! If you cannot let me go, come claim me!”

Death sniggers inside my head, and twists my cells into a perfect agonising symphony. My head splits from the howling pain, lungs constrict and I choke on my tongue.

“I will break you.” It promises me.

“Not today.” Is my constant answer. It smirks knowingly, letting me go for a while.


5 thoughts on “The allure of death

  1. I don’t invite death but welcome it, thinking that I will become nothing. I will not keep my identity, that which has caused me trouble and confusion all my life.


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