What a strange feeling; the heat of the sun beating down against you while water washes over you like a public shower. I am prepared for this. I have my umbrella, damaged and bent from years of neglect, and my brown rain jacket, which has taken on a greenish hue. Is this the end for us all? Earthquakes and Tsunamis strike across the pacific, devastating a nation. Meanwhile, we have a small amount of hail, and panic abounds. I'm not afraid of it. Even if it were the end, I am satisfied with stopping where I am. I have lived without regret, without inhibition, without fear.
My short life has been productive in a way that I could only have dreamed of as a child. I write, I wrote, I read, I've read, day in, day out. Other people don't understand; perhaps my biggest failing. I am alone in a very fundamental way. Everyone dies alone though. You can't take someone else with you, you can't die with another. Dust to dust, atoms to atoms, there is nothing that ties you to the universe around you, and someday, when you are drained of charisma, blood, sweat, and ambition, you will find yourself alone, dying, dead, turned filler in a coffin in the ground, eaten by worms and other insects. You can be afraid of it, or you can embrace it. I choose to accept my fate. The blinding sun still beats down upon me. How very strange.