Why do we live when we eventually die?
I've asked myself this question time and time again. People always say that life isn't a race to the finish line, but I respectfully disagree.
I mean, if that wasn't the case, then how do you explain countless celebrities dying from drug overdoses? What about corrupt politicians who constantly skirt the line between life and death through their illicit deals?
That's why I think that the goal of all life is death. Especially for cliff divers. People feel most alive when they're in danger. It's the adrenaline that pumps through your body and gives you a dopamine high like nothing else.
Take it from me. The happiest moments of my life were undoubtedly the last few seconds before I hit the ground.
But if that's the case, then why am I crying?
I wiped the tears from my face, but they kept coming. Relentlessly. It was like trying to stop a flood with a floorboard.
It just wouldn't work.
But it was too late for regrets now, wasn't it? I'd already left everything behind. I steeled my resolve, completely confident that I would never miss a single moment of that dreadful life no matter where I ended up.
But here I am, finally letting my emotions show.
What an absolute mess I am. What a hypocrite.
Even in death, I'm just completely useless.
"But it doesn't have to be that way, does it?"
I looked upward into the vast darkness. There above me descended a lone being of pure white.
It was a shade of white that I had never seen before. If the void around me had the absolute authority to call itself "black", then this being had the absolute authority to call itself "white."
So unblemished was this entity that I intrinsically knew it for what its true nature was.
Yet, I couldn't accept it.
How could I?
How could I accept that the very being who had originally cast me into this hell was such an infallible creature?
How could I accept that they were perfect?
I couldn't. No matter what, I couldn't accept that. Even if the very core of my existence was screaming at me to bow down, to prostrate myself before this thousand-winged entity that was slowly floating down from the nothingness above, I could never give in.
I would never give in.
They were my greatest enemy. The very antithesis of all that I'd fought against. Even if I were to be cast into total oblivion this very moment as penance for my defiance, I had to stand my ground.
I stared up at the creature that I could only describe as "God." It descended with an air of grace that was overpowering, to say the least. It was perfection incarnate. Who was I to say otherwise?
Even so, I stared defiantly as it alighted on the nonexistent surface of the void. It was strange, really.
There was no up or down in this place. No left or right. Yet, this God was now perfectly parallel to my elevation.
Oh, how silly of me. It wasn't strange at all. This is God after all.
The void rippled as if it were a still pool of water being trespassed upon by a stray pebble, and from those ripples came an unquenchable white.
It was the same white of glory. The same white of God.
This liquid perfection washed over the darkness that I dwelt within, and for the first time, I finally noticed it.
My wretched body.
It was unfit to inhabit this space. Unworthy of even standing in the presence of God.
The beauty of the human form was subjective. Some were interested in large breasts, others in large asses. Even still, there were people who were attracted to far more... niche material.
But looking at my mangled body right now, there wasn't a single soul who could call it beautiful. Half of my internal organs were gone. Smashed from the fall. My bones were jutting out in a thousand different places and I had at long last sprouted wings in the form of my ribcage.
It was a miracle that I was even able to cry. That I was even able to wipe away my tears.
But then again, I felt no pain. In that darkness which obfuscated everything, I didn't have to witness this disgusting sight.
There wasn't a single soul who could call it beautiful.
"But I can."
So spoke God.
I knew It was telling the truth. How could It not be? It was God.
But even so, I couldn't accept it.
I was ugly beyond redemption.
A soul fit only for the blackest of pits.
"Then I shall redeem you."
Again, God spoke. A seed sprouted in my chest. From it, a flower, and from the flower, roots. They spread throughout the unholy amalgamation that you could barely call my body.
But I felt no pain. The only thing I felt was warmth. It seeped through every inch of my being and pulled me together once more. I wasn't whole, but my body no longer appeared as a mass of gore.
Then again, I was never whole. I marveled at my newly reconstructed body. It was as if I never jumped before. As if I never made the sole choice I was entitled to.
Normally, any rational being would've immediately knelt and thanked God after It so graciously restored their body from the state that mine was in.
But instead, the only words that came out of my mouth were insults. I don't know how long I berated the entity that gently knit me back together, but It patiently waited with the gentlest of smiles.
As if It understood every second of pain that I felt. As if It, too, had experienced such pain before.
And man, that just fucking pissed me off.
But even so, in front of a being that defined infinity, my anger was finite. In the end, my list of grievances wasn't long enough to outlast the patience of God.
I doubted anyone's list could.
"...So what the fuck do you want from me?" I finally spoke, staring God straight in the eyes. I wish I could wipe that amused smirk off Its face, but I held it in.
I had to find out what my tormentor prima had in store for me first.