Hell

A perfect field of shade and hue lives in her eye. She sees a world fullest of romance, happiness, color. But for in this world of absolute hearth, the perfection in each blade of grass, the complexities of each flower and tree, he feels empty. His contemplations of that hollowness of existence destroy the desires of happiness or perfection. He longs rather for death, the solution to a world of hopelessness, hell. For what is so lifeless and dull a life there is no reason to desire, to care. In this field of existence there is no motive, for in this field of existence there is but a wilting flower of emptiness and the despair of uselessness. No aspirations will lead to a greater meaning, for what shall exist to notice our extinct universe? for what matter is a flower that passed unnoticed?