"But he stopped me and wanted to know how I pictured this other life. Then I shouted at him 'One where I could remember this life!'"-The Stranger Albert Camus
I don't remember being born, but that's understandable. I never was. All of life was a dream, a mere invention of my mind. It began when I was five, I think. I remember being beaten up by my dad a lot. I don't resent him for it. He never even existed.
I envy him.
A little pixie came and told me that the pain is always last to go. That would figure. I must have experienced at least one moment of joy in my ex-life. But I remember none.
I remember joining the army and spending a lot of time shooting and being shot at. Watching a lot of people die. I remember being captured and trading my dignity and my country for an end to the pain. The pain was being caused by a figment of my imagination for the purpose of gaining information from me. That seems so distant now.
The pain is always last to go.
I've forgotten my wife. I've forgotten what the word "wife" means. It's merely a vague, shadowy syllable with no meaning. It might have meant something to me in my ex-life. Maybe not.
A little pixie came again. It told me I was going back. I asked it what the hell it was talking about.
"Sleep," was all it said, yet somehow, I understood it. I asked it when.
"When you forget."
Now I see what's going on, not that it matters. I know I can't fight what's about to happen. I see the hopeless situation I'm in. I can already feel my eyelids growing heavy as my memory fades into nothing.
The absurd thing about my ex-life was that everyone cared only about themselves. I was the only one that mattered. I had created all those people. I gave them life, artificial and two-dimensional as it was, I gave them life. Now they're growing even more see-through and fake, as my mind loses grasp of their wispy substance.
The other misconception in my ex-world was that the worst possible way to spend the afterlife was suffering physical tortures in hell for eternity.
They are wrong. The worst possible fate is mine.
I would trade all the sufferings of hell, mental, spiritual and physical; I would suffer the tridents piercing my skin, the fires burning the core of my body; I would suffer all these things to have my memories back.
I'm growing drowsy now. When I fall asleep, my mind shall create another life and another Universe, for no other purpose then to amuse itself.
Fuck.