A Sea of Somber Ones

This was for my science homework.

Chapter 1

The Inevitable

A Sea of Somber Ones

Once, I was floating in a cloud. But that's not the only memory I bear. It's the memory I always receive after unfathomable pain to what happens to myself. All I can ever recall before this, is my previous life, and my bringing.

I recall being with the ones I loved, and being torn apart. Everything hurts, and all around me, I see, I feel, I hear, I am everything that's burning. We are all one, but separated, torn apart, and put together. It's worse when you can feel less of the pain. That's when you know everything is going slowly. Have you been slowly ripped to shreds, watching everything else either get the same torture, or watch and fear it all to happen in horror? It's something not a single one of us can run away from.

I pray to something, anything out there to stop this. To stop hurting us and to stop using us, and killing us, and tearing us. We're thought as nothing. We're taken for granted. We get stuck with disgusting ends, we go through terrible routes to get a cycle of torment and torture completed. You compromise nothing to ruin us all, yet we're too weak to die off from it. We're too weak to accept our fate and we keep dreaming on. Nothing ever happens, of course. Nothing ever will. We are all eternal.

Eventually the burning stops, temporarily. I can't see anything but the remains of everyone around me, building up to something tangible. Tangible enough to fall down and kill ourselves. I see ones I recognize from previous encounters of my revival. I see ones I was with when everything was being torn apart.

Occasionally I even meet new ones. Being around the ones from what could be a short time limit ago kills me most. Seeing someone wake up from the same pain you are in, and having absolutely no control on how to save them, let alone yourself.

We're reunited either way, past souls, new souls, we're all the same souls. I can't say I know why we don't die out immediately. Sometimes I assume there just has to be an exact amount of us before the inevitable happens. But that's just worse. Watching new recruits come, helping with your suicide mission.

Except, it's anything but a suicide mission. You're going along with this, alright. You always are. But... you can't stop it. No one is there to tell you to stop it. No one is there to help you stop it. Then what is considered suicide or not? Chosen death? Surely it's more than that. We haven't a choice, yet we go through with it. We never try to stop ourselves. It feels... natural, despite the pain.

Degrading yourself is what's next. Degrading yourself in a sea of somber ones. You eventually realize you mean absolutely nothing to the world. So what if you're in pain? There's about a billion of you's in the world. You're never different. There's going to be someone who looks like you, thinks like you, acts like you, talks like you, and even likes what you like. Who ever says you're TRULY different? You're production of your own disaster. So what if something happens to you? Who would actually care? Anyone could easily be in pain of seeing this happen to you, but would they really decide it’s simply over for THEM just because it's simply over for YOU?

We're all here, together, seen or not seen. Eventually we wait long enough for our end. Our end of the start. The start of our end. Any way you state this cycle, it stays the same, and it means the same. We all drop at uncontrollable speeds. The best and worst part, is that you're not alone. You don't go through all of this pain alone. Whether you take that good or bad, it means two completely different things that are unconditionally compatible.

When you fall, the only thing that worries you most is when it's going to be over. The trip to the ground is uncertain, but whether it's long or short, straining thoughts of your importance to the world don't stay away from you. What else do you have to think of? What are your worries? Everything you've ever worked for is about to start.

You'll meet plenty in the sea of somber ones. You'll get a reputation. You find your group of the ones you care about. The ones you couldn't bear to see get hurt. When you find them, you learn to stay away. You stay away, to make sure you don't witness the pain they go through, anyway.

Sometimes it's a slow process and you slide around, teasingly. You're with other travelers, waiting to be settled in your temporary home. Sometimes you'll get lucky and it's all quick and you're in the dark. You get to fall straight downwards, and the world opens itself up for you and the ones around you, and swallows you whole, not missing a single one of you.

I tend to slide around, teasingly, with new and old friends. No time for contemplating on your life now, I tell myself. I usually end up racing a tired and endless race to hide myself in the dark. To extend the time I have from being torn apart and being sent over at the starting point. We live a game that resets itself automatically and we have no clue how to stop it.

I barely remember the times when I forget I have to relive. I tend to think I'm lucky and my prayer has finally been answered and it's the last life I go through, out of the previous quadrillions. Sometimes I end up straying to different places. Places where others lay down their heavy hands and carry my confessions until the ground has made my death bed.

Eventually we all become the killer of our own self convictions. We are all corrupted from our own impurities of amelioration and assassination. There's no use of hiding when you can't escape the destined lifestyle you're forced to live in. You aren't given the choice to pick your road.

Everything is predetermined and it happens to you. The only thing wrong with the perfect plan is that eventually you wake up and realize it's all happening to you. When you wake up, you can't go back to a blissful and ignorant slumber. You carry the burden of discernment and truth forever.

Over and over again I get stepped on. The dreary days of my life continue, and yet, I still ponder about the meaning I've been given. What do I owe this earth? What is it that I was created for? My existence is a mystical and mirthful enigma to the never ending sea of messiahs just like me.

I drip down slowly into a dark and deep abyss, away from the light world and all that I've known for what is good and what is not in my tedious life. Who knows for when my prayers shall be answered, or why, at any matter.

What importance do I have versus the ones far worse than I am, traveling down to the insides of everything else, being torn apart and killed, and sent up above, to start all over again? We're always here, and we can't ever disappear. Nothing can ever change that, and yet it still hurts to be ripped to shreds. Everything you worked for, everything you've lived for, and suddenly you're brought up to a charted memory and you do it all over.

You disappear and when you come back your mark has been covered in dust and you keep cleaning it and wiping it, but it continues to blanket itself over. It keeps dusting up and you can't do anything about it because if the world didn't suck, we'd all fall off. The drop to the end finally stops and I rejoin my world of misery with no one to spare us. A sea of somber ones who regret to live and regret to die, and now, I'm stuck here in this sewer.


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