"Who am I?"
I am certain most, if not all of us, have asked ourselves this question before. Pondering on the very fabric our success as human beings depends on… our identities. So, we dive into a little self-discovery. For some it ends with a desirable answer. For others, it ends with self-derisory.
So, with this finale, we will dive into how Michael Forrest developed Yori, and how his self-discovery led to the end of the world and blood painted over his hands, reaching into his fingernails.
When we transition from children to adults, we are left with a middleman known notoriously as Adolescence.
During this phase, between the ages of twelve and twenty, we face challenges in our lives that are meant to shape us into ideal adults. A phase in which we find purpose in our lives.
However…
Pressure is laid onto us, and this pressure stunts the growth. It misleads us from our purpose. So, we go from finding ourselves to pleasing the adults who play a factor in our lives.
For most young people, it ends in despair and self-hatred. But, for our friend Michael Forrest, this ended in hatred for humanity. Hatred that he buried beneath the surface. Hatred so strong, so powerful, it created its own persona, its own host within a host. So was the birth of Yori.
And every so often, Yori would reveal himself to the public and do the work of hate as a stress-reliever for Michael. Two ends of the same coins, they were. Polar opposites who required each other's mere existence to live.
Without Yori, Michael would have most likely ended his own miserable life after the untimely death of his younger sister, Melissa.
Without Michael, Yori himself would have never come to life from the burden of hate. Two completely different entities within the same body. A Yin and a Yang.
Two entities in the same flesh within a ship heading back to a world they destroyed all because of hate.
Michael's Perspective
Alone I sat in the warmth of a ship. My eyes rested upon the beauty before me. A starry abyss called space. A vacuum so powerful it can suck the life out of any living creature to exist, yet it was so elegant.
Reminded me of a poem I read when I was a little boy.
"Welcome to Chicago, where buildings grew high.
Welcome to Chicago, where people could fly.
In planes and in buildings they gazed upon the sky,
So serine it was, glowing from the sunset before their eyes.
Welcome to Chicago, where people made the city function.
Before race became a factor, before the coming of corruption,
Welcome to Chicago, where money became God.
Where guns blazed in every house, never perceived to be odd,
Where gangs were born, and daily, people were shot.
Oh, wait! This was supposed to be a happy poem, I forgot.
Welcome to Chicago, where the citizens lost their joy.
Where people would rather die than be the government's little toy,
Where power is abused, and it is every official's job to lie,
Where everyday mothers prays that their sons do not get shot by some random guy,
Where the justice system fails those of a different skin tone,
Where banks will take everything you own.
Because what you own is theirs, not yours.
From your house, to your car, to your dog eating a bone.
Welcome to Chicago, where greed is the number one pleasure.
Or shall I rather say: "Welcome to the world"?
All of this written from a young girl named Heather,
Who was a teenager, just a fourteen year old girl.
Welcome to the world, where the rich feed off the poor's strive,
Where nobody truly cares whether you are dead or alive.
Welcome to the world. O, welcome, welcome."
I always wanted to meet this girl named Heather. Unfortunately, this poem was written centuries before my birth. It would have been marvelous to meet her.
"Four Days Until You Reach Your Destination."
Four days. I wonder if she may have survived longer than her due date. The Earth. An incredible display of cosmic elegance in the form of a bright blue orb drifting in nothingness. It truly is a shame. At the very least, I as the last living male human can witness her utter destruction.
Many will perceive me as 'evil' or 'self-righteous'. Not that I really give a rat's ass. They wouldn't understand my reasons for doing what I did. The reason for it is quite simple.
Desensitization.
It is that simple. It does not matter who I truly am, nor who I am perceived as. Good or evil. It is but dust in a universe of sand. What does matter…
I did what nobody had the guts to do. I completed a mission that seemed unlikely to be fulfilled. I ended the torment and destruction of the human race. The chaos that came with them. The hate, the suffering, the evil, the dilemmas, the self-righteousness, everything… I ended it.
Even if nobody thanks me or sees the good that I did. Even if nobody understands it. I did what I had to do.
So, what if I do not know who I am? So, what if I can not live to see a full life? The only thing that matters has been done.
Who am I?
I am Michael Forrest. The one who saved the universe.