So I Had A Reason To Die

     He worked hard. It’s been long, and almost too long for that matter, but finally after years of dedication to his task, after all the research, after all the trouble, chaos, ups, downs, and everything in between he had finally completed it. Some of them called him crazy, some of them called him a fool. He’d lost several lovers and loved ones to this tragically chaotic nightmare of a reality. He had lived through the loss of so much that he knew that life was no longer worth the wait. They’d grown tired to the death of hearing his troubles and sorrows. Was it too hard to lend an ear to a colleague, much more a lover, or a relative? All his loved ones had departed in various ways and now he was alone. Once more in the silence of his lips he screamed his mind, but not for long. What was the point of life, should he simply live without creating so much as a minute mark on humanity, much less his own loved ones? Soon it would be over. He needn’t wait long. Not for long.

     It was there, at last. A fully grown creature. It was so familiar that it surprised him to see the minuscule differences he had never seen before. He, himself, had scars now but this strange Figure that stood before him didn’t. It wasn’t alive long enough to live throughout the lonely hell he had been through, and hopefully It wouldn’t have to. It didn’t have loved ones just yet. No one to hurt and no one to hurt him, with the inborn human insensitivity. No one to lose and no one to lose him. Completed, and perfect, with all it’s imperfections and all it’s lack of grievances. It was hard finding a surrogate mother for this creature; this Figure. She’d have to give her own life to create this abomination of science and humanity.

He was surprised when she accepted his offer. Out of so many candidates he’d extended the offer to, including some of his closest friends, she was the only one who accepted. A distant acquaintance, not even a friend, would devote herself to his work. Grateful for it, he would take care of her; feed her, clothe her, and let her live around the lab for quite some time, until the birthing. A courtesy, at least, or so he would say. Just until the birthing, then she’d be gone. It started simply, the two of them consistently working around the laboratory; she helping him with whatever she could. She wasn’t a genius, but he didn’t need one. He just needed a surrogate. She’d often times cook for him as he furiously masturbated, collecting samples of himself for testing and improving. When he wasn’t masturbating, himself, he would have her do it in front of him, as to achieve the perfect combination of sperm and egg. She was religious with regards to her tasks. Then came the time and throughout the insemination, he held her hand. Soon enough, the months flew by, and he took care of her. Every nitty-gritty need and want, he provided. Before she’d die, it was only decent for him to at least make her life a little more happy. A courtesy, at least, or so he would say.

     She did, of course, die. Giving birth to a fully grown man wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to do on the planet. Nevertheless, he took note of her efforts and sacrifices; meticulously jutted them down into his notebook. He did this because nobody loved him, enough, at least. Nobody cared, and he wanted to pass the bill up, to someone who he knew for sure, could handle things a lot better. That seemed a logical a reason as any. A few genetic tweaks solved this issue, although the allotted time it took for such was years. It was maddening. His funds which supposedly came from the University and Scientific Community, although meant to be devoted to science, were merely devoted to his own selfish pleasures. Not that this Figure was no feat of science but he had it all planned out. No one was to know what occurrences had truly transpired. They were merely going to be informed that the Project had failed, along with the surrogate mother. Soon this would be signed off as another top secret scientific failure under Government Files to be stashed away into the dark abyss of their storage, just as he was going to be, soon enough.

     It was almost finished. All he needed to do now.was to wake the Figure. Placing a hand on the It’s shoulder, he shook it a little, waking It from It’s preliminary slumber.
     “I made you. You already know this. You know what to do, and you know how I did this. You are me, and I am you, but I must leave this world, because there can only be one of us left. You know why I did this. A simple reason, a simple solution that took long to achieve. I made you, so I’d have a reason to die.”

     The Figure nodded, and took the scalpel from the nearby table. He smiled, a tear in his eye, as the Figure slit his throat. The blood gushed, soaking his lab coat. He knelt down, as the Figure held him in a bloodied embrace. The tiles were now covered with a puddle of life and death. The birth and demise simultaneously occurring. It was the magic of science.

Just before he drew and exhaled his last breath. The Figure spoke, a small set of sentences. Five to be exact. Just long enough for him to hear and understand It’s perspective on all of this. Just long enough for a quick lamentation before his departure.

“My dear Father, you have forgotten to see, that your supposed lack of love was merely life’s trickery. You failed to see, Father, that the love my Mother had for you was tremendous, such that, she would have given birth to you, yourself, sacrificing her life, if only, to please you. I know, dear Father, that this is a mistake that I will not make for you have born me well. I am your spawn, Father, I am you. Thank you.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling for the last and first time. The Figure stood up, soaked with the red life that his Father had neglected to appreciate. Looking around, It saw the predicament, and though It knew that there was someone out there to love It, It couldn’t help but cry for the loss of the man who loved himself too much, such that It was spawned out of hatred and contempt for this world; this reality. It lost the only man it would ever love. That was the It’s reality, and slowly, It began to slit It’s own throat. The blood once more filled It’s chest, It’s small piece of undergarment clothing, It’s legs, then the floor. It would all be over soon. It needn’t wait for too long. Not for long.

(c) Anachronic Works 2012
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Delayed Merry Christmas (It’s Amazing How The Simplest of Stories Can Make One Cry)

So yesterday, I was at a hotel for Christmas day, and surprising to say, I couldn’t get away with my way, because internet service in the room means that you have to pay. 100 Pesos an hour is really too much, so I was not able to post this soon enough, but nevertheless, here I am now, ready to share something new to the crowd.

 

So for all you people out there who had spent their Christmas-es alone, then that’s cool. At least the Internet always has some posts for you guys. 🙂 Here’s the post:

 

It’s Amazing How The Simplest of Stories Can Make One Cry

 

The more complex on the other hand makes one think.

The comical drive the point of the need to laugh.

The more horrific drive the point of the need to fear.

The romantic drive the point of the need to love.

The action and movement filled ones drive at the need to live to the fullest.

The musical drive the point of expression through the sounds that affect us ergo the importance of our ears.

The silent ones drive the point of expression through visuals and how important our eyes really are.

Though with all of this, it’s the simple ones that drive the point of life itself. It’s the simple ones that make us cry. Why? Maybe because we relate to them. Maybe because they’re easier to comprehend. Maybe because they’ve happened to us. Maybe because they can influence more. Maybe because the lessons learned are really useful. Maybe because we follow by example. Maybe because of all of these combined.

 

Or maybe.

Just maybe.

You’d like to,

Live out what actually transpired.

 

You’d like to live it, so you can tell your version.

You’d like to live it, so you can experience the fullness of life.

You’d like to live it, because you’ve been starved of it.

You’d like to live it, since it happens to others.

You’d like to live it, knowing what to expect or what not to.

 

But for me, I like the simple ones because they make me tremble,

they make me question,

they make me wonder,

they make me realize,

they make me analyze,

they make me worry,

they make me relieved,

they make me stay awake,

they make me sleep,

but most of all,

I like the simple ones,

Because they inspire.

 

Because,

 

To know the simple will give you all that you’ll ever need to make the complex.

 

(c) Anachronic Works 2011