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[Purgatory, 590 words, Genre: Experimental]

* Image courtesy of Dirk de Bruyn

He was waiting in the afterlife. Killing time or time was killing him. The cycle of reincarnation was on repeat. That is, the spirits in the foreshadowed area of the afterlife were all waiting to be reincarnated into the next cycle. He didn’t like life, hadn’t enjoyed it. So now he sat on the sidelines watching other spirits as they entered into the cycle of death and rebirth. The entire process was mortifying. People treated life as some sort of game where the stakes were raised to the next level and they all attempted to screw each other over in their own peculiar fashion.

He had had enough of life. He had had enough of the cycle of reincarnation; death; purgatory; and rebirth. So now he sat in purgatory. Waiting for the whole of existence to come to an end. He knew that one day it would. Human existence and the very essence of life would one day be extinguished from the flow of the universe. Now he waited… Biding his time.

Others looked to him as he continued to sit the experience of life out. They called him names. They had a million names for him. Loser, geek, retard… He had heard them all before. Too many times before.

So he sat it out. The course of human history was evolving. He saw it all from the spirit world. He didn’t think much of it. He just waited for it all to end. Until the end of time he would wait until the universe itself ceased to be. He despised them… These spirits that continued to roll in on the Ferris wheel of death, life and rebirth. But what could he do but wait.

So he was a spirit that considered life a passing phase. And it was… Life was a passing phase. One day the entirety of existence would be shuffled, it would be shuffled and destroyed. Stars would collide. The universe would find itself in an ocean sea of emptiness and obliteration. He yearned for that obliteration… Yearned for non-existence.

Yet as he sat in purgatory, obliteration would not come. He counted years as seconds, centuries as minutes. The entire ravelling and unravelling of human history was continuing on and for it, he felt nothing. He watched those spirits caught up in life as some plaything of imagination. The great conception. The conception was that it mattered. None of it mattered. It was just something that the spirits did. They played and frolicked in the land of the living. Taking into account the great achievements of mankind and labelling them as their own over and over again.

Truth was. The spirits were idiots. All of them or at least most of them. It didn’t matter. There were few friends that one could relate to once they had achieved a certain level.

So he waited. Purgatory was an odd place. As an odd place, as any place is, as any place can be. These mysteries of life, death and rebirth were in constant flux. The spirit of some odd entities cannot be told to achieve more than they can be prescribed at achieving. That said. Nobody really achieves anything. They just go about their business believing that they have done something. Life is it’s own oddity. When really, all it is, is nothing. Nobody achieves anything. Nobody ever does anything. It’s all pointless. The comfort of a lover’s arms is about the most one can ever ask for. If it were not for that… All would be purgatory.


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