the last battle .
sometimes in the silence the buzzing starts. the whirring, persistent, annoying buzzing that represents realisation. at first it’s hushed, but with every second that passes by it grows louder, picking up fragments of understanding and snowballing it together. following all the confusion that once saturated this space, the condensed realisation triggers a chain reaction.
anticipation. it drips off the walls until it creates a waterfall that surrounds her, trapping the rhythm of a heart that’s beating a little too fast. the vibrations pass through the walls and dissolve on the other side, whereas she cannot.
trapped, drowning in the anticipation becomes inevitable. so she searches for a way to make her heart stop racing.
and what better way to stop something from going too fast than to stop it altogether?
one day, when it’s all over, they’ll tell the story with a hint of happiness, sadness, romance and tragedy. they’ll say that everything had a purpose, and served its purpose in the end. and they’ll create an ending that seems fitting, cutting out all the fear and doubt that could have led to nothing but despair.
she knows this because everyone wants to create their own ending weaved into their ideals, even if it means altering the truth. and the many different versions of suitable endings will flood the world, each further from the truth than the last.
so is it better to be remembered for the entertainment and comfort of those who choose to remember? or is it better to leave without a legacy so no one can ever distort the truth?
the buzzing becomes intolerable, and realisation dawns.
there’s no such thing as outcome. there is no end and there was no beginning. and there is no significance, just existence. and ceasing to exist.