How long has it been already?

I wonder...

Not having anything to do, nor anything to need to do.

I didn't need to eat.

I didn't need to sleep.

I didn't need to drink.

I didn't need to exercise.

And—I didn't need answers.

Yet, I am thinking.

Is it because I am thinking that I am alive? Or is it because I am thinking that I am thinking—but really, some other being is in control?

How does one know? In the first place, how does one know anything. What can and can't be trusted when everything can be deceived? Your feelings, interpretations, memories, visuals, hearings—they can all be deceived. So what can be trusted? What is trust?

Did time exist? Time according to the human interpretation is the continuous progress of existing whether it be the past, present, or future. But do I exist? Why do people living things strive to exist? Why do they try to survive? It's not like the meaning of life was to survive. That would contradict itself because surviving is to live, and if the meaning of life is to survive; then it would be an endless cycle of despair. No one can live forever. So no one can accomplish the goal of survival. Since it is inevitable for mortal beings to perish one day.

But was I living? Was I existing? I could think, but does thinking mean I am conscious? Does it mean I am alive? Am I existing? If I wasn't existing, then time wouldn't exist either. But say—time did exist. Then what? I had time. But there was nothing I needed to do.

After all, I no longer needed to survive. There was no danger...

At least I couldn't perceive it.

So what was the meaning of my existence? Though I didn't know if I was existing or not, there was no point in ruminating about it when I couldn't do anything to solve it. That was the problem of the impossible. Like how we have no evidence that God exists, we have no evidence that he does. We don't even know what a god is. Is it not something that humans fabricated in search for a universal answer? Was it truly an answer? Or was it a justification for being alive? We try so hard for answers to the inexplicable. It's funny isn't it? Why can't we just see things at face value and just accept it all? Death is death. Life is life. Maybe...

What constitutes god? Godhood and mortalhood... Perhaps the meaning of life existence was to strive for the impossible. It was never to find answers. But it was to find meaning in the impossible. I wonder... If gods existed, does that mean they had the answers?

Can a mortal become a god? Was it really impossible? Though the entire concept of a god could either be dismissed as human imagination or salvation, did any of it really matter?

'If gods don't exist...' Why don't I create them.

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There was no use in searching for answers when there was no meaning. So why don't I create a meaning for myself. Arrogance? Hope? No—or perhaps it is. Perhaps it is my own delusion that I could obtain salvation. Perhaps it was a delusion that I thought I could continue existing. What could I do? There was nothing here. Nothing to do...

'The books.'

Perhaps it was the reason I had been brought here. I didn't know anything. No human should know everything. But perhaps a god would. But what if I was already a god? Was I not technically immortal? I didn't need to eat, sleep, and drink. Does this not constitute immortality? Or was it something else? There was no use huh... No use in such a circular thought process. Sometimes... No—. Doubting myself now would only bring me back to my existential crisis. I can't keep repeating this.

I need to break free.

———

Decoding a language and whatnot. I had so much time on my hand. Yet I felt it was impossible no matter what. There were no patterns. There was no repeat. Every single character was different. It was as if this language had an infinite alphabet. It wasn't limited to 26 like the English alphabet, heck—it wasn't 500, 1000, or 5000. Vowels like the letter 'E' could be found a couple times in a sentence. But this alien language was completely different. It was like making sense out of a baby's gibberish. Every single character looked different. It wasn't just a simple anagram combined with a cipher shift. It was something else.

I had already flipped through countless books out of frustration, but they were all the same.

"FFFFFFFFFFFFF—." Ugh, cursing won't help.

Since all the books were written in the similar language, I just picked a random one and started flipping through it while carefully inspecting each line of characters for the slightest hint of a pattern.

The thing that I hated the most was the monotony in such a stupid and meaningless meaningful activity. But it had to be done. I'll have to try everything. EVERYTHING.

———

No clues. Nothing. I HAD NOTHING.

These f*cking books had at least a thousand pages GODDAMNIT.

They don't even have numbers.

'Calm down.' Yes.

It seems I had become mad. Or perhaps I always was this neurotic... Nonetheless.

I need to continue experimenting. If carefully reading everything won't work, then...

———

writing the words didn't...

it didn't do anything...

even when i tried formatting those characters in a circular fashion like that of a cultic ritual...

what was i supposed to do...

what...

why...

why am i doing this...

———

No.

———

"BUUURRRN BAAABY BUURRN!!!"

———

"DRRRRRROOOOOOWWWWNNN!!!!"

———

"HOOOORRRRRCCRUUUUXX!!!"

———

'...'

———

'...'

'Is it over yet?' I've tried everything. From burning the books to submerging them in water. I even tried ripping them apart with the kitchen knife. Heck, I tried drowning, burning, and cutting myself too. None of it worked.

I achieved immortality... But at what cost... Immortality must suck...

———

Dear diary,

Today, I tried eating the book. It wouldn't rip apart when I chomped down on it. I bet it wouldn't go down my throat either...

'Ah f*ck.' I accidentally bit my tongue and it started bleeding.

'What the actual fuck?'

Stabbing myself didn't hurt me but biting myself did?

'I won't question it anymore.'

With the book still in my mouth, I realized something started to change.

Like the glow of an incandescent lightbulb ready to explode, the pages were shining in a bright white light as if ready to solar flare my eyes with a flashbang.