After Death

Where would you be at the end of the world?

Would you be on the train ride as you always do every morning, beating time to get to class before you were late even though truth of the matter fact is, time is always ahead of you and it ran out for everyone?

Would you be at the peak of your glory and elation as your dreams come true and at that moment, everything turns gray before your eyes and everything crumbles before you and you stand there, realizing the horror before you and everything else went black, as somebody calls out your name in an echo.

Would you be in your lover's arms as they caress and stroke the very being of your soul, and that touch burns as everything disintegrate into nothingness and when you look up, that beautiful face, the very reason why you'd go the extra mile fades away as you feel light and float up with the memory of where you have been before time was up.

Or would you be at the lowest pit of your life, piss drunk and depressed with a bottle of pills in the medicine cupboard. At a point in your life where everything is gone and the only way is up or down to your own grave as Despair takes over you and you decide that the pills would end it all and your death would be in unison with the destruction that occurs a few seconds after you were sober enough to pick yourself up and go to the bathroom and puke.

Or would you be here right now, typing down these words or wondering what the world would be like as the apocalypse approaches. Would everyone know and scramble for the hope of humanity and survival, just so they could live for one more day, one more night, one more hour, one more minute, one more moment to decide whether to accept or decline this prophecy brought down to us. It is bound to happen and either death or this would come first as proof to show how little we are on this plane.

We are mere humans. Nothing more, nothing less.

Who would remember you once you were gone? How much have you left behind? How much did you matter towards the world that you were brought in?

And would you regret the life you lived or be satisfied before leaving?

For we don't know what is beyond Death and anything is possible.
So, are you prepared if there was nothing at all after the life you live and you died as all your family, friends, lovers and children cry at your funeral?

And if you lived to see the day, where would you be at the end of the world?

The Playwright

This is the beginning of something new and perhaps an outlet that would make me practice my writing at least everyday, as much as I could for the constraints of my mind as various stories and event faze by my brain every single day and at the moment where I needed an outlet to write it down, there's isn't a medium for me to do it.
Since the internet has the infinite space for me to pen down what I believe would one day be something beautiful, appreciated by anyone who shares the same passions that I do and believe in what I do. I believe in what I leave behind and it doesn't matter if no one reads this for the moment. This address would be passed to someone of this medium, and he or she shall discover this hidden treasure of mine and my legacy would be continue down.
But why do what I do? Is it for pride and fame? What is it that makes me do what I do?

There's a story behind every single thing that happens in this world, right from the very matter and anti-matter that exists on every single plane of existence. Stories are perhaps the most fluid of everything that has ever existed, for the knowledge that carries with it runs as deep as the very first creation of this earth and it runs older as it tells tales of what runs before the very idea of stories come to mind. Men travel through time and forecast his fate and tries to revert from the inevitable, stories bend the reality, giving that fantasy a life as mere beings struggle to exist on their own planes of existence. Stories make the impossible exist, for if the story doesn't exist, then that particular matter wouldn't exist at all in the first place as. What runs through my imaginations and possible intellect strives me to create something out of the stories that exist through my mind.

I do what I do and when it comes, somebody else would be on this space of existence and it would progress through time and eventually, I believe that something really beautiful would sprout out and my dreams would one day finally come true.