The Story of Life

Life is a constant mirage. It blinds you into believing that the little things such as love, happiness and excitement make up for all of the hatefulness and ferocity that our world holds. We look into the sky and see voluptuous white clouds and golden flecks of sunlight, and imagine where it will lead from here. Will we reach Heaven? Will we meet all that we’ve lost? Will we find happiness?

Our hopes and dreams prevent us from realizing that this is not a middle-ground that we are standing upon, where the choices that conspire from death are either Heaven or Hell. We are living in the fiery pits of Hell, and from here we can only go lower and lower until we are inside the depths of insanity. Our skies are not blue, they are crimson, and our grounds are alight with flames of corruption and lies. The ground we stand upon is not grass; it is ashes that are painted scarlet by the blood we have shed trying to find the meaning of life.

We are blinded by our own determinedness to believe that we are living for a reason. We hide beneath pictures of a better place that have been painted by fairytales and hoper’s brushes, and we are guided through life by torches that are so dull that they hide reality.

We are the creatures of Hell; Demons themselves. If we dig deep inside ourselves we will find the grain of our insanity and madness, that if planted will grow to show our real forms. We are liars; rotten to the core. I’ll love you for a moment before I’ll leave this place in flames and burn you alive. I’ll whisper in your ear that you mean the world to me, when deep down I’ll be planning your demise.

Or was that just you?

Were you the only one that dripped with poison from the tongue? Because when you looked at me like that your eyes were red like the Devil himself. But you’re not that strong. Oh no, you’re like every other demon that lives on this land. You are weak at heart; weakened by fables we have created to keep us from going mad. We lie to ourselves to convince us that we are not evil, and that being sinful is rare and looked down upon. But we love to sin, and we do it all of the time.

You love to sin, don’t you? I could see the flipping of your heart when you cracked mine in two. I can picture the gleam in your eyes as you look at my blood, splattered all over the ashes that wreak this land. Because I might be weak like the rest of you, but I’m the only one brave enough to die.

You think I’m insane, and the truth is that I am. I’ve been driven mad from years of walking this earth, just like the rest of you. And yet, I’m the only one to accept it. I’m the only one who embraces my insanity as a means to leave this life. I’m the leader, but I don’t expect you all to follow.

One day this will all just be a story. We’ll go down in flames like the Hell we are, and we’ll disappear into ashes that are lost in the folds of our existence. Life will disappear until there is nothing left beside a tale that will be told for years, and whoever it is up there will close the book, and we’ll all be forgotten forever.

Life is just a lie, and I’m ready to write myself out of this book.

And you know what? I’ll have forgotten you before you’ve forgotten me.

Good luck, my little Devil.
From, Stacey.