oh. Trey.

Hello! Hello Trey. Have you gone insane yet? Well, probably. Are we good? No.

Isn’t talking to yourself like that a sign of a mental issue?

Probably, I wouldn’t doubt it. I don’t know, I don’t remember... Where am—

I slipped again.

Wait. It’s 2900 something? Fuck I haven’t been keeping up with counting. It feels like... a day. Or a year.

No, no. Probably just a day. Okay, that means... it's the new years. It's now 2901.

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Day 319,959. Year 2901. As per century tradition, let's check everything that we can remember.

Hello mom, hello dad. Trey Robert Mattinson. Age 20-23, I remember I was an Agricultural Engineer student, doing what I love the most: math and nature. I remember loving anything green. I remember loving hiking, the smell of the forest, the crunch of leaves under my foot.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

I remember that we fell off a cliff. Dad, Robert Mattinson, was driving with mom, Erin Mattinson, in the front. I remember dad choosing the songs on the radio. I remember mom always laughing. Dad had a mustache, and mom had red hair. I… don’t remember their faces. Or voices.

I remember the dirt in my eyes. I remember the back of their heads, blood dripping to the car ceiling, mom’s blue eyes turning pale. The red. And then...

I was here. Dead. I remember being confused. I can’t see, hear, smell, or feel anything. I’ve been surrounded by darkness for hundreds of years. Weightless; probably floating in some purgatory. Following that, I can't remember anything at all. The only thing I can hear are my thoughts, droning and stretching for hours and days and months on end. Never ending.

I wish I could just go.

But I keep grabbing on, hoping to be something.

God is real, right? Shouldn’t I be greeted by something—anything?

Is this hell? Am I in hell? I don’t even remember anything, so maybe I am.

Maybe I have done something, and I deserve this.

I don’t know.

…

Mom and dad had gone to heaven already.

Maybe they reincarnated.

Surely they had.

…

I’m tired.

…

Day 319,978

Maybe my struggle was for nothing.

…

Day 000000

Maybe its time to let go.

…

Day.

Maybe...

It’s time to let go Trey.

…

Yes.

…

In those thousands of years, somehow. Somehow, for the first time again.

I felt whole.

…

Let it slip by.

Like grains of sand between your fingers; piece by piece, grain by grain, your soul whittles away in the great expanse of the abyss, scattered across the infinite. Let them escape your shape. Let them leave and explore the nothingness. Each thought, once sharp and clear, now a ghostly echo. Grasp that touch of wind; be pulled. Stringed. Torn.

Until these thoughts turn into a whisper.

You wouldn’t notice.

None.

Ah—

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