I wish the future could at least play a pretentious game of obligations. It gives way to an agony greater than at the greatest losses—purer than the loss of one's father. Yes, agony has purity. The more visible your future is, the less pure your agony gets. If you broke your pen but could buy another one, your agony is impure with the smell of new plastic. If you fear the sheer intensity of it will fade, your agony is impure.
What a numbness it shall be when my pure agony ends. But I fear the obscene calmness will ruin it. At the end of a long day, before drifting off, a cold breath goes through your throat to cool your lungs. Your brain shuts off and the nerves relax. Is this supposed to happen when you're unconscious? Nevertheless, it happens then. It is all the more logical to expect the same before suicide.
While this isn't the future, that I talked about that lowers agony's intensity, it is comparable. In a way, it is too the future or the sure absence of it. By this then, future surety would be the right term.
So, what happens to someone who has lost their future surety?
They descend. From society? Maybe in the eyes of others but not themselves as they have long parted ways. They stay in a room of a house where life might still go on in its liveliest forms. Just that the person is forgotten and he now dreams. Dreams, not like in sleep but more in obscure scenes of active imagination. They dream of blooded creatures which the others consider human as they have memories of it being one. Once a human is always a human, the others would say to comfort a mother. Creatures like withered crying women and starved men whose empty eye sockets are filled with blood. Then slowly, slow enough to start the physical decomposition of their bodies, the dreams faint. The redness of the lands of these creatures fades into the layered morning fog. They become observers who can't think, poets who can't write. Then death comes in. Heartbeat stops way after they are dead. If you remember the forgotten being and are brave enough to shake their head they'll fall like a corpse, and observe you in silence.
They will be alive like that for eternity. A symbol of shame to the human race.
Rick B. Buy me a pen