It was a strange death. Quite fitting for a man who hated life. It would be three days, seven hours and exactly fifty three seconds until my decomposing body was found. During that time, i had enjoyed the silence. Except for those damn crows that perched on a nearby fence, frustrated that they where unable to tuck into the bounty they smelled drifting from a window left ajar. On my death bed, i rested at last. Nobody came to bang on my door. The phone didn't ring once. It was as if i had never existed, but that suited me fine. I had no friends as such. No partner, as i was unloveable. No children. No job. No car. I was alone in that world, an outcast of pretty much everything. Life was a burden to me. It seemed to enjoy draining everything that was ever good. So my final breath whispered the words "Fuck you" in an attempt to have the last insult. I'm not sure it worked though, as death has a way of having the last laugh, and i swear i heard someone say "No, fuck you!" just before my heart exploded in my chest.
Being so negative in life only made death a breeze. When one has no respect for living, then he can only welcome his end, because death is the only one sure thing in life. As a child, i once watched a butterfly crawl out from its cocoon. I marveled at the beautiful creature that emerged, and touched its wings with the tip of my finger. It felt like velvet, and life was quite literally at my fingertips. The butterfly flew for the first time, hovering above my head for a second, before colliding straight into a cobweb. The resident spider dashed out, grabbed the butterfly, and then rewrapped it in a cocoon of silk. Death has no remorse, but in life, we are drenched in it.
My funeral was of little interest. Although there were a few familiar faces. None of which knew me, or cared for that matter. Some people have to show up at these occasions, as they feel the inner hope that they once had a friend. Now gone, the funeral is only for their benefit, so that other people will now feel sorry for them at the tragic loss of a loved one. The service was simple. Songs i never knew. Prayers that spoke of things that in death i knew were untrue. I was in limbo. In a state of nothingness. No white light. No gathering of ancestors to greet me. No steps to ascend, or pits to fall into oblivion. It was all a lie! And the only truth about it was, well, that stays a secret, because i can't fucking tell anybody about it now I'm dead.
If i could live my life over, would i change anything? I don't think i would, because now i know that everything i ever did in life was bullshit. In life i saved up and bought things that i believed treasures, only these treasures turned out to be another persons junk. The important things cannot be recycled. There is no peace without war. There is no love without hate. Every positive has a negative. And every life has a death. So why would i change a life when the outcome would be exactly the same.
I didn't feel the flames as they turned me to ash. My body had be abandoned. I just watched the thing ignite, burn, and then collapse like an unfurnished, derelict home. I sat and listened to the preacher with his blah blah blah. Then it was over. My life, my miserable fucking life, now a pile of ash. Ash to be tipped somewhere for any passerby to trample over and not even know i was there.
Life sucks... And i wouldn't recommend it to anyone. I was once like that butterfly. Struggling to be beautiful, only to be tethered in a world that didn't like me. Now i walk amongst you, without restraint. I am nothing or nobody. I am free.
The End
