Surrender

We are cursed.

It happened at the end, when she was asking for questions. There was a sound, like a walrus, asphyxiating. Someone said, "Hey man, are you okay?" Movement. Gasps. Then exclamations.

I stared resolutely towards the front. Refused to turn around and play into her game. Watching her face closely for the small sign, the shift in the eyes, the telltale smirk which would reveal the truth. Hah, I imagine the words forming in her mind, they fell for it.

I hate myself.

My first thought was it was staged. It was too perfect. A medical emergency, right after a talk on what to do in medical emergencies. The timing was impeccable: nothing important would have been interrupted. And the alleged mastermind - well, I wouldn't have put it past her to pull a stunt like that.

People were herded out. Adults strode in and out, doing purposeful things. A paramedic arrived. Things were done. He was carted away on an ambulance.

I sat there, silently, hating myself.

Somehow, people talked. People ate. Volume crescendoed. The human mind is amazing. Every day, it takes the extraordinary, the miracles, the wonderful and the fantastic, and turns it into the ordinary, the normal, the familiar and the routine. Coping mechanism. Arguable. But why would you not want to feel; what could possibly be another emotion you could feel right there and then that would be morally justifiable. Because you don't want to compromise on your ability to act. Yet, you are not the ones acting.

We are cursed. We are a wretched species. We are sinners, corrupt, diseased, malignant, twisted, evil, blighted. There is no cure. There is no saving. There is no escape from this cycle of suffering. An instant of apathy destroys a lifetime of piety. We make rules - or, if you so believe, have rules given to us - to keep ourselves in check. Then we break them all anyway. We err. We forget. We rationalize. We excuse. For what. What's the point.

What's the point.

In anticipation: I claim no moral high ground. I, too, am only human. I am as pathetic and wretched as every last one of you. I, too, sat there and did nothing.

I want no attention. I am as deplorable and horrifying as every last one of you. Why should my stench be lauded over anyone else's. If attention is to be called, then at least look inside yourself and realise what is festering within.

There is no faith. There is no hope. There is nothing for you here.

Only death.
The Edna Man