Terminal Condition
We discussed the idea of September for the first time today, right now it’s only August, the days of which are in the terminal stages of some sort of disease the doctors as yet don’t understand. I slept through today’s round of treatment, if you can call surrender that. I’ve been alive, truly, for ten years now, and I don’t mind making myself patently aware of that fact.
It’s funny how, for all it’s boldness, youth doesn’t fight back. In fact it’s quite an elusive fighter, having found itself in a war it never wanted to wage, and has no designs on winning. There are no fortresses of redoubt, no bastions of youth, simply a lifetime of fighting along diminished and increasingly timid frontlines, vast armies put asunder by the mechanized legions of time, pressed relentlessly onward by the hordes of death and non-existence.
I vowed to fight, ten years ago. An impassioned plea the first time I felt it necessary to comment on these dying days. My mind is still for it, even as the gray of battle closes around it. And perhaps my body as well, there are times yet when I feel still in my prime, despite all I’ve lost.
Ask me some years from now, in this same position any number of years up the road, “would I go back?” With certainty I would, to a point in time that’d never have me again. And everyone would still be sleeping, even as I returned to warn of a war that was waging all around us. Our houses are burning around us, our temples are being ruined from within, and still we do not fight, still we do not recognize that which is dying inside each and every one of us.
I suppose there will be time enough for mourning in September. August is dying, and today I slept.
It’s funny how, for all it’s boldness, youth doesn’t fight back. In fact it’s quite an elusive fighter, having found itself in a war it never wanted to wage, and has no designs on winning. There are no fortresses of redoubt, no bastions of youth, simply a lifetime of fighting along diminished and increasingly timid frontlines, vast armies put asunder by the mechanized legions of time, pressed relentlessly onward by the hordes of death and non-existence.
I vowed to fight, ten years ago. An impassioned plea the first time I felt it necessary to comment on these dying days. My mind is still for it, even as the gray of battle closes around it. And perhaps my body as well, there are times yet when I feel still in my prime, despite all I’ve lost.
Ask me some years from now, in this same position any number of years up the road, “would I go back?” With certainty I would, to a point in time that’d never have me again. And everyone would still be sleeping, even as I returned to warn of a war that was waging all around us. Our houses are burning around us, our temples are being ruined from within, and still we do not fight, still we do not recognize that which is dying inside each and every one of us.
I suppose there will be time enough for mourning in September. August is dying, and today I slept.
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