I dunno what to call this, so I'll try to explain to the best of my ability. It's entries from a fictional journal written by someone who is about to die. Sad, yes. The point is that the character reflects his thoughts on life and death as he starts his decline. Maybe not the best of ideas, but anyway.. Journal Entries Entry one: I don't think I'm going to live much longer I know as I write on this paper with slurred ink and lousy script, the more I fade. So right now I try to convey my feelings, a final thought before the curtains close. Entry eight: Life and death are like summer skies right before the sun sets. To watch a life from afar, through a screen is beautiful and to watch it end is painful. It's like watching the birth of a star and then witnessing it as it becomes a supernova, before it even has a chance to make a stain in the universe. Entry fifteen: You feel love and you try to look for the one you belong with or maybe you don't look at all and they find you. Perhaps you live your whole life miserably and alone. You find religion and faith and then you find logic and rationality, some keep with what they're more comfortable with. Others give up altogether. Others still are filled with apathy. Some are so miserable that they decide to end their lives. It's too big for them. The world, the struggles, the responsibility. And here I am thinking about it all. My greatest fear is being forgotten and I think maybe if I did something important then I'd leave a peace of me behind. Entry twenty one: My thoughts are becoming incoherent. It's hard to think anymore. Even harder than it is to breath though, I have a tank beside me. My eyes are itchy. Entry twenty two: I feel a bit better today, I don't know why. The calm before the storm? It could be anything I guess. I think the most important thing I can leave behind is love. Something I haven't been very lucky in but I have loved. Deeply so. Perhaps the one I love will remember me, if only until someone else comes. Entry thirty three: Really. I don't have much longer. I told her to go away but she sat there all night beside me, holding my hand. She's so beautiful Entry fifty one: I don't have the strength to write anymore. Every things clouded. I'm looking through a fan and not hearing the motor. It feels like I might be able to see the wind, and my soul. I've always wanted to see what it would be like to become invisible.
Excellent Idea! I did very enjoy reading this. The only part missing is that, to me, it feels like a lack of...a real person, you know? Like every day experiences and stuff but that's just too me.