An Insight Into the Mind

"Why?"

The question was all that was left of any sort of soul or essence that remained in Michael's heart. He had grown weary of all other branches that broke away from that terrible question. He knew most of the What, and the How.

Who? Us. Me.

Where? Here. The Universe. The whole of Existance.

When? Now. Before. After. Until The End.

But Why? Why was the Universe so cold? So bitter?

"Because."

That was the only logical answer. There was no god, and thus there was no creation.

Michael had long ago come to the conclusion that the religion of his family and friends, his ancestors and kinsmen, was nothing more than religion. Man-made rules and laws and history, designed in the cold and distant past when some prehistoric man decided to rise out of his ignorance and come up with reasons for things.

What made the sun rise, or the rain fall? The answer was obviously a greater power. Something that he could not understand, but only hope to appease for its favor. So he designed rules. Customs. Traditions for the worship of his gods. Other people seeking purpose and guidance learned from him, hoping that they too could gain favor with the operators of the world. After that man died, a few of his followers narrowed his rules. "Surely," they thought, "if the gods appreciated our efforts before, our penance and contrition will be rewarded tenfold."

And so the earliest religions appeared. Where beliefs differed, fights broke out. People began to slay other people simply for believing different and equally false beliefs. They called them "crusades" or "jihad," simply speaking, the purging of those who are not us.

However, as times changed, and beliefs softened, so too did the gods. No longer were the malevolent beings to be appeased or held at bay, but they became personal gods, supposedly interested in ones own life. Yet people continued to hold tight to their beliefs that their gods were one and the same as those of their ancestors, and in a sense this was true; they remained tools for holding people together. Tools for taking and holding power.

Or at least this is what Michael saw. He no longer knew what to believe. Everything that he thought he knew seemed to be a lie. Even as he cried out to his god for guidance, his spirit had been broken by silence. What now could he trust? The only things he could truly put his faith into were those for which evidence could be supplied. And yet, without a creator, the universe seems all the colder. Surely this was why people believed even after science surpassed religion as the authority on the mechanics of the universe. It gave them hope. Purpose. The feeling that they may be worth something after all.

But all this was lost on Michael. Many times before had he joked that he would rather be right than happy, but the weight of that statement was crushing down upon him moreso than ever. If there truly was no creator, then in fact the universe was meaningless. And if there was no meaning to the universe, than he had no meaning or purpose either. Whether measured against the immeasurable vastness of the universe or against the limitless grind of time, he meant absolutely nothing in the big picture, which itself meant nothing.

Life lost its value in his eyes.

"Why continue?"

A person is born. They live a little. And then they die. And that was the end. What mark they made in the world was meaningless both due to the fact that the world was meaningless, and their acts served to give it no more meaning as a whole, and by the fact that once they perished, they were gone. It matter not what the did in life, for the mind dies with the body. Death was truly the worst thing he could imagine. Even in the most dire pain, existance is more desireable to nonexistance. It truly was indescribable in its finality.

But still his mind wandered to the pills. It would be so easy. Why did he even consider willingly entering the inescapable pit of nonexistance when it was so terrifying to think about? The problem lay in the fact that it was inevitable. No matter how cleverly he dodged Death's grasp. How deftly he delayed its onset, he could not stop it. Why try? Why even continue if everything you do will eventually be taken from you? Your mind even! How could you live life knowing that its all worthless? If he was going to die, he couldn't see a reason to continue. Quit while you're behind. The only things that kept him from commiting the action were the survival instinct that he could not overcome, and the knowledge of the pain he would cause his family. Yes, he wouldn't be around to experience their pain, so it didn't truly matter, but it made him feel bad thinking about they would be put through in his absence.

And so he battled, day after day, doing his best to remain numb to the pains and truths of the world. He silently hoped that someone would be kind enough to take his life for him. How much easier it would be to be the victim of a car crash or a drive-by shooting than to attempt to take his own life. but as long as he could, he had decided to hold on to life.
"Perhaps it will get better."

"I doubt it."

"Perhaps... I don't even know. Just wait a little longer."

"I just want it to end."

People say that it's foolish to believe that death is rest, as rest is a feeling and cannot be experienced after death, but the End is approaching at breakneck speed. All he wanted was to bypass the bleak and hopeless road of life to reach the bitter and cold End that was death.