By Sebastian Muriel
I think I have a purpose. But my life has been a spiraling downfall of nothingness, mixed with occasional peaks of mere interest. It’s been so long since I’ve been captivated, surprised, or romanced by my world. I’m surrounded by darkness. A couple of times during the day, however, I’m filled with a certain light. But this stopped bringing me joy when I realized that this light was never going to change. It is a lifeless light—stagnant and unchanging. After several years of living in this hole, I’ve come to accept that this diurnal light is a gentle reminder of my linear existence. I am merely but a recipient of miserable morsels of hope that quickly decay. Nothing more. It’s just enough to keep me alive—to keep me in a state of awareness that I exist.
I remember the days when the light would shift and change, and I would experience new flavors of ecstasy, joy, and wonder. The seasoned meats of life were bestowed upon me, and I savored their infinitely complex nuances of beauty. It used to be a daily dance of joy—one that lovingly rebelled against the tyranny of monotony. But one day, the light stopped shining through the crooked crevice of my hole. I grew hopeless when the lifeless light shone into my hole. I knew that this lifeless light would never leave. It was a singular color of oppressive insipidness—green. That’s all it was, and still is today. Green. I can’t handle it for much longer. I will eternally long to suck all the marrow out of life—but no, I am damned with this supernatural dullness of greenery. There is no end to my perpetual downfall of nothingness. I am resigning to the gentle indifference of my beholder, for I am starved of life–forever condemned–as a stomach trapped in a vegan’s body. I think I have no purpose. Not anymore.