Quarkoala

United States

My Passions:
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-Writing.
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-Music.
-Computer science.

My Large Collections:
-Books.
-Tabletop games.

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The Doom of Death

May 23, 2020

FREE WRITING

1
    I asked, "Where am I?"
    My answer, from a mystical voice coming from far away, was, "The Doom of Death."
    "Is death doomed or is death the doom?" I asked, now a bit worried.
    "That is a good question," the voice answered again. "I think you will see that the answer is complicated, and maybe one day, you will realize that you knew it all along."
    "Where do I go?" I asked.
    "Go where it feels most natural to go."
    So I walked, and then, for some reason, I started running, maybe because it felt more natural. I ran past trees of all different sizes, all different types, all different colors - some were even blue and purple. Then I stopped, this time not because it felt natural, but because it wanatural; I needed a breath. Around me, I saw no more trees, but spikes of rock and glass. They were shrinking - shrinking. Was I dreaming? Last thing I remembered before I ended up here was me collapsing for some reason. Maybe it was random. I was old.
    Suddenly, I gasped. I could run! I was young again! A child, even.
    "Yes," the mystical voice said, "you are a child again, at least physically. Mentally, you are older than anybody you've met. You are wiser than was ever possible in the Other Place."
    "What's the Other Place?" I asked.
    "You already know."
    And I did, but I also knew it wasn't important, at least, not right now. Maybe later, it would matter more to me.
    I looked around once more, and saw a vast desert. Yet, the sand was water, or was it? Was it sand, or water? Really, there was no way to distinguish between the two. How could that be? I thought about it, and realized that, at least right now, sand and water were the same thing. Well, almost the same thing, but not completely the same thing. Yet, I also knew they weren't different.
    In front of me was a house, which was also a river. I went inside the house, and saw another door. The door was not a color, but a mountain. At least, kind of. It was quite odd, yet I wasn't confused.
    "Is anybody there?" I asked.
    "Yes," the voice answered from behind the door, "we are here. We are always here, yes."
    "Should I go through the door?"
    "Ah, well, only if it feels right."
    And suddenly, I couldn't think about the door, I could only think about the Other Place. I wanted to say something, so I said, "Can I return to the Other Place? This place is like it and isn't, but, well, I miss my home!"
    "That happens sometimes. This place only looks like the Other Place because you see it that way. Common, when just returning here. As for your home, home is just a way of describing something, like the way you see this place. As for whether you can return to the other place, well think about it. How many people have you seen return to that place?"
    I thought about it, and realized returning wasn't possible. "I can't go back, can I," I said.
    "Oh no, you will go back, but you will be different. You won't be you, and you won't care, or notice. That's why you probably won't want to go back so soon."
    "So what now?"
    "What now?" the voice asked back.
    "I go through the door, I guess. What will I see?"
    "Oh, you'll still be in this place, but it will feel different. You'll lose all of what you thought you had, except some of your memory and thoughts."
    "What else?"
    "We cannot describe it to you," the voice replied. "This is the Doom of Death, after all. But you will know."
    How would I know? And then I knew how.
    Slowly, I opened the door, and walked through.

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