Accidental
Suicide
I rushed; I ran; I scrambled;
Death overtook me and, with his warrior grip, tightened his empire over my soul.
The hostile takeover seemed permanent, with one exception: the hope of
rebellion.
I hoped for a rebellion that would wipe out the pain and terror, leaving only empty
fields in my soul, fertile for growth.
Hope was granted birth.
The rebellion was a bloody process of uprooting the weeds of wickedness,
controlling the thorns of tyranny, and decomposing depression.
The smoke rose from the fires that left irremovable scars in the land and blood
soaked into the soil, fertilizing the minerals with bitterness.
I looked over my land, so violently taken, so violently won. My eyes spilt tears of
terrifying revelation:
This land was not the land I once had; it no longer contained joy or it’s once
incomparable innocence.
The scars and the blood, the hate and the fear, had all ruined the land.
They made it impossible to bear any memory of the beauty that had existed
before the corruption.
In that moment, I yearned for something so unutterably repulsive that I dared not
even say it aloud to myself;
I yearned for the tyranny.
In the tyranny, anger reminded me of what I no longer had;
Rage had become a brother while seeking revenge for my father’s land;
Pain had needed me and I had needed pain.
I fell to my knees, collapsing at the thought of my actions; by killing the tyranny, I
had unwittingly killed myself.