Death is always the Present

Inspired by LIFE Season 1 Episode 10, and CSI Season 3 Episode 10

What did you see?

In that last moment, as the dirt covers your face. As the ice froze your lungs. What was the final synapse? That last flash of electricity as your final exhale fluffed through the dirt.

Like a noose around my neck, this sinking weight in my gut. Like Icarus you soared so high. Like Icarus, you surpassed the final limit. The limit to death.

Ice in your lungs, you didn’t even notice. How could you not notice? Did your ego drive you higher? Did your pride push you beyond reason? Your pride pushed everyone one away, pushed them to kill you. How could you? How could they do that? They were not your friends, but you considered them your rivals. And not in a killing way -how could they turn around and conspire for your death?

Jealousy. It’s no mystery. You thought they were jealous of you, but they were only jealous of freedom from you. Bred resentment.

For love. Yes, isn’t it always. Love drags you down, and kicks you under. It gets dirt in your face, drowning in mud and clay. Sand in your lungs. Inhale, exhale. It wasn’t yours, and yet you took it anyway. Then you didn’t know what was yours…whose are they?

No… no… they betrayed you too. You didn’t know, never suspected that she wouldn’t take no for an answer. And then there was holes, and dirt, and fingers clawing towards the sun in the dark and silent night. No salvation, no redemption. Just silent screams and mud lined contortion of spine and soul.

Staring down at your shell, there is no comfort. Are we selfish to expect comfort from the carcasses of the dead? Is this why we pose them in serene repose? To forestall our fear of death?

There is no peace on your faces. Just horror and torment. You died twisted, your body broken and mind shattered. The sun shines on your disfigurement and we are frightened. So we put you back under, refill your lungs with sod. Refreeze your carcass and send you back to the sky. Why did we reel you back just to send you back?

Who knows? It’s not like we’re here.

We’re just more likely to be here than to not be here.

And sometimes here- is death. And death is here. It’s always attached to our shadows, a silent medium of record, counting down the moments till the end. Sometimes, unobtrusive. Often ignored. And yet it never leaves.

With that sudden strike, we are reminded of its presence. And that it can come suddenly from those we wouldn’t anticipate.

The worst betrayal is death by the ones who loved you. When you don’t see it coming.

And we who continue to live, view and take heed. Lest your sudden end take you by surprise.


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