by Darren Horton

Created on: December 12, 2010   Last Updated: April 09, 2011

I wish somebody would come soon and close my eyes like they do in the movies, to give me a bit of dignity in death.  What if no-body finds me for hours, days or weeks, even?  Will my eyes become permanently fixated?  Will the undertaker be able to shut them?  Will my relatives look at them in morbid curiosity as I lie in my coffin, staring at the ceiling of the chapel, and say things like ‘he had nice eyes’ or something awful like that? 

Perhaps someone will lend me a pair of shades.

So what do I do now?  Am I supposed to float away or something?  Or drift around in limbo, waiting for my chance to right a wrong.  Aren't you supposed to find the answers when you die?  Isn't it a time when all the riddles are finally solved? Peace, happiness, wings and a cloud to sit on? 

Maybe I’m imagining the wrong destination.  Perhaps Hell is full, that's why I'm still here.  They might have to compress souls to make room for sinners like me.  

Or maybe I've been overlooked; destined to wander somewhere where there are no answers, only the irritation of unanswered questions.  My punishment could be one of eternal confusion, waiting for nothing to happen and having no-where to go (just an extension of my life really).

I never did know what the most important thing in life was.  I still don’t know.  Was it Love?  Happiness?  Understanding?  Fulfilled ambition?  Fame?  Family?  Everyone has a different answer depending on what they have, and because we spend our lives subconsciously wanting whatever it is we don’t have, to compensate, we fool ourselves into believing there exists a greater good, whether it’s the imagery of Heaven and Hell or the justice of Karma, to keep us sane.  It can be anything, so long as it’s something. 

So I must have died of partial insanity.  I’d no beliefs and no answers.  Just a head burdened with questions and a body that buckled under the weight of other people’s ideas.

What was I supposed to do?  Embrace other men’s ideas as if they were my own?  Live my life in a certain way because someone else thought it might be a good idea?  I didn’t want to blindly stumble along the ruts of paths trodden before; I wanted something else, something more. 

Maybe death really is a contemplative eternity, but the only thing I can think

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