Black Hole

All light was gone. Its warm touch that caressed his ailing figure faded ever more into the darkness. It was now a memory, a distant sight that reached out to him. A stretched-out hand could maybe grasp it! Just one more time. To be warm just one more time would be a blessing—yet such things are a lie.

The only reality now is that darkness. Darkness; the word is unfamiliar to the human mind. Charcoal? Pitch-black? Real darkness is not a sight but a feeling. One's eyes become useless as its cold, malevolent touch slithers down one's spine and encases their entire body. An invisible coffin, yet so visible as it makes one scream in fear!

And then one's mind begins to wander. The darkness completes its encirclement of one's soul and then disappears. Breathe; it's gone! Yet, the human mind is once again lying. It never left, but the crippling fear growing in the psyche of this terrified human could not withstand another moment, so the mind lied to the body, and the body could no longer sense the darkness.

But it's still there. The darkness is a backdrop to the circus that is about to unfold. The mind continues to wander, and now it sees something in the distance. Yellow and brown spotted patterns. Long legs that rise high above one's point of view. A simple giraffe.

Its stride is slow, a near trudge through the ink. Its mouth is ajar; its tongue blends into the background. It's hungry! Feast herbivore. A tree has been conjured just for you. It's as tall as the giraffe with green leaves, bright green leaves!

There is life here. More giraffes seemingly appear from the nothingness. More spots, more trees to feed the hungry! More life, carbon dioxide; this space reaks of what has been lost.

Elephants? Gazelles? There are too many animals to count or even name, all herbivores.

They walked around, hooves and feet casually traversing along a floor that didn't exist. It was all so strange.

Then they all turn and stare at him. He is losing his mind, and now his thoughts are yearning to be heard. The animals surround him, slowly approaching their creator. Their pupils disappear, now one with the darkness that truly birthed them.

His breathing quickens. There are yellows and greys and browns in all directions. This wall of flesh is endless, ever-tightening its grip around his soul and making claim to his feeble body. The heat from their fur-covered bodies has turned the air into an oven and him into a feast for their ravenous maws.

His fearful cries fill the air. A stray hoof steps on his calf, crushing his fibia instantly as an ocean of blood fills the crevasses in his now mutilated leg. Then his left leg makes an audible crunch as it too is ground to pieces. Two useless legs. A futile cry for help. The elephant presses its powerful foot onto his mouth, cracking his jaw. He no longer screams.

Four gazelles, two for each leg, latch onto his feet and pull. They continue this until his legs stretch out for several meters. His flesh does not part during the entire process. It instead stretches like a piece of thoroughly chewed chewing gum. His legs grow thin as the gazelles suddenly pull again on his disabled limbs.

They keep pulling until they are out of sight. The gazelles are gone, but some force continues pulling the man. His legs are now as thin as two toothpicks. They can not stretch anymore, but the force does not stop.

It now pulls on his torso, stretching it like it had done his legs before. Thinner and thinner. He feels his organs squeeze out their juices. He is a tube of toothpaste, a useless case to be stretched and squeezed until all of his contents are gone. Is this what death feels like?

The darkness hums as he slowly succumbs to the inevitable. The animals around him dance some sort of horrid jig. There are drums, but he can't hear them. The animals can, and they dance violently. They jig and tumble, tripping over one another. Dancing, dancing for their glorious sacrifice! The darkness must feast as well.

And it will feast. It will feed on his spaghetti limbs and juicy, hollowed, body and consume him whole into nothingness. His memories will leave time and space and become strands in an intangible web of thoughts. The web will be mighty in size but useless in its existence for it does not exist. It will simply be the byproduct of a mind's death.

His skull will become a birdbath. His torso will be a bag of feed for those birds. His legs will become decorations for the bath. His arms will complete the scene.

His story has ended, is ending, and will end. Death is the absolute, no matter how long it takes, no matter when it happens. His everything is a nothingness that consumes reality and then disappears. Life is this. Existence is this final conclusion that wroughts an endless cycle—exist, and exist only to not exist.

The animals danced one final dance for their offering. Their bodies crashed into one another. They trampled one another with hooves and feet and guttural moans. Flesh was torn off bone, and bones were ground and burned. Ashes.

A gust of cosmic wind ended the cacophony, and then there was nothing but the darkness. It was always there. Its color, shape, and size were always constant. When one delves into it, they shrink and stretch until they are no more.

The darkness overwhelms. The darkness ends.