Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow...
What do you think you are doing? What do you want? Why are you here? For years I have been asking myself these questions. I live for myself, fight for myself, for surviving another day in this ruthless world of competition. But then you appeared, and I stopped questioning myself, for you are, by any measure, a much more interesting person to question than myself.
From the first time I saw you I find you laughable, perversely detached from reality. To fight for justice, to fight for happiness, hope, order... How ridiculous. Life is too short to care about anything other than your own survival. How many times do you have to fail to learn this?
In some sense I understand how you feel. Your happiness derives from others'. Yet, isn't this the worst form of disability? To rely on others all the time, to depend on situations where uncertainty rules high for your own well-being. Only foolish girls would fall for this blatant trap.
Aren't we all specks on the never ceasing arrow of entropy? Our existence has always been doomed to end in an entropic manner. No one can reverse the force of irreversibility. It is a written law above us all. So you think you, making a wish for someone who doesn't even love you, would somehow reverse this never-ending cycle of doom? I am here to tell you miracles are thus named because they do not happen. The laws of this universe do not operate on sympathy.
Red. All the red around us. The colour of blood, of sacrifice, of fiery passion. How fitting in this occasion. In you I have found my past, my foolish self who never doused her flames of destructive fantasies. I, like you, have only recently been revealed to the truth. It almost took your life, yet you continue to march majestically into this gaping trench. Is your life worth so little that you are willing to throw away for nothing?
How ironic that the most beautiful insects are also the most deadly, the brightest flames destroys the most, that the most kind-hearted person brings upon the most tragic death. And now, the hopeful of them meets the most aloof, so desensitised to the tragedy of our kind. Perhaps it is true after all that the extremes always merge back into a cycle, as if time loops around itself, and I am here to meet my own self again. How ironic, that I now shall fight myself. What have you done, Fate? The mighty sorceress, who transcends time and space, lusting over the glowing essence of all that we call hope, till all that remains is but an empty core of despair over extinguished candles.
My concerto is coming to an end. The brass flourish, tremolo from the strings, trills from the winds... All instruments awaiting for the final swing of my bow. So let me defy you once, Fate, let me defy you just once. Let me be both death and her maiden, and seal my last vestige into this realm.
