What does dying entails?

It is a question so common, so mundane because it comes from the same meaning and, in turn, is as important as it is trivial for others. I am not the one to dictate by which hand you leave the world, nor do I think I would like to have the merit of; perhaps for the reason that thinking about it is simply not enjoyable to me, what fun is there in thinking about what dying entails? In the end, it's not as if thinking about it will make us ignore reality or what happens during and after it, or even before. It's a little boring, it's confusing, it's not enjoyable, and yet; It was inevitable to avoid thinking about it for life even if in just moments it appeared and went away as quickly as the bubbles in a glass of boiling water, but likewise, more came out again and burst, that is until it finally stopped boiling, and With it: you would have a glass ready, one ready for some bitter and delicious coffee, or one of warm milk, if it is slightly sweeter to drink. I tell myself that it is of no use, even so, it is not my main thought.

Rather…

What does it mean for those who take from other people's lives?

The harvester of souls, lashing out against life and thinking about the departure, the misfortune. It's so weird? I don't know, it's really a question I've felt I should answer; and I lack reason to be able to respond, also to understand it. I don't like to take so much time thinking about myself, because by doing so much I become familiar with death, and I don't think that's what I want to approach or aspire to, I may be stupid, but I maintain a little the principle of not leaving, I don't think that doing so is right, either for me or for others, right?

Not yet…

—So, what do you think? —She sighed

— Good, i supouse. — He said

—What are you taking about? I'm wondering where your mind went so suddenly.—

—Ah, that's right, well, uhhm... — He said. —I just got distracted a little, nothing relevant. —

…Sip.

—Sure? You didn't seem very connected to your world for it to have been irrelevant. — She said.

—And well? Does matters? It's not like I'm going to die from it. Not yet. — he said and thought.

She shrugged her shoulders and tilted her head with a grimace of uncertainty, to give a sigh and lean her back on the comfortable cafeteria table, the smell warm and coffeery, even if such an adjective does not exist; It was as useful as saying a bitter and gloomy smell, but anyone would say that a cup of coffee deserves to live on a calm table. That is why perhaps coffee lives in both worlds as each one does, but we are not aware of coffee...

And not from oneself either.

—What? — he altered her voice slightly, as she moved her head toward the table, and toward her glass of milk; Among many things, something sweeter than a little bitterness, because how could I not say that I hate coffee because of the sour touch it gives in my mouth, even if of all, black is the one that gives it the least bitterness.

—Nothing, nothing. —She assured with her head —I was just saying. —And she was ‘just saying’, hell to ensure my own death in life, it's not like I'm destined for magnificence either.

-I see. — He said with a sigh — This is boring. —

And even if it were, it wouldn't matter because he could do nothing but complain in such a place. Furthermore, complaining would probably only cause him to become more annoyed with the very cacophony experienced by the repetition of the front door bell, flickering with the movements of a mean boy who preferred to keep moving the door from side to side to annoy customers. , but the only one who sadly bothered was the one already lost in his thoughts, young, young whose humor seemed more rustic than a stone from nature itself despite his birthday being before the second decade of a tree's life, or so he said to himself.

—Do you want to stop now?!, eh?! —She said with a raised voice and a rooster half crowing because of her voice.

The kid was overcome with fear and stood erect with his back alert while he walked away quickly, without bothering to say a word, well, who would want to start talking to a guy who drank milk in a cafeteria? Nobody, or at least it didn't seem like it except for his companion.

—You didn't have to be so aggressive, for God's sake. —She murmured as she returned her gaze to the table —He's just a child—

—I don't want a child to be disturbing the environment. —He said with a thick and hoarse sigh.

—You're probably the only one that was getting bothered by it. — She replied. —I didn't realize he existed until you yelled at him.— She added to her response.

—I don't care, it's not my problem to be aware of my surroundings, for God's sake—He said with disdain as he watched his annoyance leave the cafeteria through the door. It was so easy that even the most serene person would accept.

Well, a slight silence loomed between the banal babbling of people who, well, did not exist outside of here, but the feeling was mutual, neither she nor he existed outside of here for others, as much as energy for an addict to caffeine once drank their last cup of coffee; bitter-tasting, to put an end to the thought of being better this way, because it is more direct.

And disgusting, or well, that was unnecessary in the opinion of an innovator who drinks from a cup of milk, when rather, he should be drinking a good black coffee with his self-taught reasoning from, who knows from where it came.

—Do you realize that a few moments ago you were more lost than a goat on the road? — She said.

—What kind of metaphor is that? —He said as he frowned slightly.

—You're not answering my question. — she said back.

—And? You can't wait for me to be so compassionate with an annoying kid. — He took a sip from his glass of cow's milk, or well, luckily with lactose, because he didn't suffer from bathroom attacks every time he did so.

—pfft…— She couldn't hold back a light laugh as she approached the table to lean her elbows on it.

—Hey? What is it that makes you laugh so much? —

-Nothing. —She said while he forced the muscles of his mouth to avoid vocalizing the implied irony again. -I mean it, nothing. — She stated once seconds passed and he continued looking at her face with his half-closed eyes.

—Tell me now. — He said, not believing anything that was stated.

—How do you expect me not to laugh while you drink a glass of milk? —She said while she let out light laughs between her words. — Seriously, you're twenty-one and you still choose milk as if you still ordered happy meals. — She said as she let out a loud enough laugh.

—And well, that's better than drinking mud with water. — He said. —At least it doesn't leave your mouth with a bad smell or taste. —

—My, my, since when did your breath smell good anyway?" —She tilted her head slightly with a light laugh.

—Since I brushed my teeth, damn. — He said with a slight frown on his brow, who was somewhere between confusion and frowning in annoyance at his taunt.

—Okay I believe you. — She said. —Or well, I have to. —

—You could practice empathy, you know? — He said scathingly.

And who was one to speak, they have principles, but how far do they go compared to a street lenght? Or what one's eyes can see, in the end, what you can't see doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt, that's what many say.

Irony would be that he will blame someone for procrastinating, or for being childish, or any aspect that does not revolve around a topic as inherent as surplus in your own eyes. Who knows; It's not like one is going to question what they’re looking at when they need to speak from the heart and not with reason. Maybe one stop being empathetic once they look out of instinct rather than out of sincere and intentional concern, but are they different?

—What did you expect? —She said with a slight mockery as she straightened her back again. — Don't look at me with that face, it seems as if you were looking at another world than ours. —

And yes, it was a different world to which he looked, the living one was his, and he had to stick to acting in it without reproach.

—Yes, I know. — He said. —You didn't have to blame me. —

—Ah, but you like to blame him, right? —She responded with a soft smile.

—Now, now. Be quiet. — He said as he looked up at the ceiling of the cafeteria, the light slightly blinding his eyes as he gave a deep and dense sigh like the smell that was lacking with a touch of coffee.

—Ha! What's happening? — She laughed again while she also rested her body on the chair and relaxed her straight posture, but in her case her gaze was directed towards the waiter. —Did you bring money? —

—Well no. —

—Okay, I'll have to pay then. — She sighed, unable to help but make a funny face. —Wow, I never expected in my life to have to pay for a glass of milk. —She said —In a coffee shop, especially. —

And maybe she was right, how common is it to pay for a glass of milk in a coffee shop? a simple, plain glass of lukewarm milk without grace, affable but lacking a place in the group, at least if he lacked a companion in his presentation. And yet, how much do we not expect in our lives to have to put ourselves in the sight of another when we have to look at a fetid? After all, logically we expect that the relative of the deceased will be the one to do it, or well, that another relative will do it if we are also part of his blood. Nobody can blame one, there is a reason that the options are there, but certainly: it was better to serve yourself a glass of milk in your own home than to go buy it at a cafeteria.

—Let's leave the nonsense aside, okay? — He said, trying to appease the ridicule he received.

—If you want that. —She said as she shrugged her shoulders. —Well, it would be time to go. — She made a slight whistle to get the attention of the waiter, to whom she handed him the total of her bill, both for her coffee and the glass of milk.

—Take care of yourself. — He said as he took a sip from the glass of milk.

—Lucky you, you being friendly? — She joked as she moved her body close to her and poked his cheek lightly with her fingers, to which he slightly moved his face away from her with embarrassment on his face. —Also, take care of yourself, Jaden. — She said as she stood up and from there, she started her walk, leaving there and marking herself among the noise with the bell going from side to side as the door opened and closed.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

—Yes, yes, whatever. —He murmured as he rested his elbows on the seat again. —What a nonsense. —He said as he took a sip from his sweet glass of a brat and left it half finished.

—Well, I didn't feel like drinking anything anyway. — He muttered to himself again to clear his thoughts. —But hey, a free glass of milk is free milk. —

It's not like one could have served it in the comfort of your home, without having to force someone to pay for it and then leave it half served like a newly filled baby, right?

How ironic.

«This was definitely boring, I couldn't wait any longer. And it doesn't matter, it's not like I can grieve being in someone else's territory; I wouldn't allow it, even if I wanted to, but luckily, I wouldn't. Or well, what could I make it out of anyway? I would talk as if understanding was as common as everyone who has sinned, but I don't think they would understand, much less turn around and look at me from some eye other than my table and me. But if they give me the look out of boredom, out of spite they take it away. Even with that, I can understand that no look directed at me contains anything more than the need to keep some flow in the neck and look at whoever it was to get up on their elbows and turn their gaze to whoever they really cared about. And it's not that I am anything different from that, I know, but thinking about it is simply normal that not doing so would simply mean ceasing to be me. And being me was clearly my priority, not someone else's, because I believe that everyone wants to be someone else, but once the opportunity arises, anyone would think about it once again. Unless you are really hanging on by such a fine thread that falling is more pleasant than feeling how the thread makes your hand singe and bleed the more you squeeze and the less it grips. But mine is still as thick as a rope, and I think I can hold on to it for a while longer, I hope it's not a jiffy. I had forgotten what a place like this smelled like a long time ago, maybe three or five minutes, and now that I remember, I also remember: I really hate this. I can see why drinking coffee is so common, probably because it makes you feel so familiar with the searing thread that you prefer to anticipate it, or speed up the process until it stops hurting, or it lets go. And I know that I drink milk, but wow, I guess I can try to get into other people's thoughts, after all, coffee with milk exists; I can understand something from there.”

And likewise, he remained with his head down while he fought against the exhaustion of his body from being so hunched over and in an instant he straightened his back to throw himself back against the chair; It felt good on his back to have something to recharge on instead of feeling like someone was recharging him, a soft sigh until everything came. The incessant, murmuring murmur invaded his ears in what he couldn't quite consider a cacophony, not at least if he wanted to accept that he was also part of them a while ago, but denying it suits him well, so it didn't matter.

«One has always wondered what each murmur says, sometimes, you have simply tried to stick your nose where it does not concern you; where you are not needed. And that's it, nothing more than trying to get into what you're not missing, that when you leave there will be no difference, is that what I'm looking for? Maybe feeling alienated is sometimes annoying, but for some reason, it's so addictive sometimes. You eventually become an adept at being improper and for that very reason, you cease to be. What were you looking to be in the first place? You can't complain, you won't always get the best in the same way, which is why poking your nose so much will also make you choke, and eventually, turn brown. Sometimes it's better to just stay to see the water from afar.»

—I can stop talking nonsense with coffee for God's sake... — He said to himself, a little tired of losing his mind so much on what didn't matter, according to his outlook. With one leg crossed, he moved it to sit upright, so much so that he spent a few seconds thinking. In reality, he was simply trying to hear what one of the much sought after, but not at all strange, murmurs were saying.

—Yes, recently he gave me a chance. I'm excited, you know? —

—The therapy has really been great! I feel like we're on the right track and that makes me happy, I know he won't die. —

—They accepted my interview, damn it! Among all of them and is it that I was the one who got lucky? Good thing it comes tied to my shoe. —

—Really saved me! If it weren't for looking at the ground, I wouldn't have found a coin to pay for the bus. Life really blessed me —

«Everything is so nice, ha... What the fuck, is everyone really having such a good time right now? "I deserve to rest a little, I have suffered a lot just by even getting out of bed."

—Yes, Giselle; My mother has died of cancer, her funeral will probably be next week. —

«…»

—I don't know if she would have wanted us to invite her sister, I know they don't have a good relationship, but I can't just be that mean, she wouldn't have wanted that. —

“How do you know?" He questioned himself as those words passed through his head, so much joy had been seen and his mind became clouded with the thought of a corpse in its corresponding coffin, seeking to be able to free himself while they chained him, chained him until he could not get out as if from an angel. which Lucifer will take from the darkness to take him away.

-I’m... —He said to stand up from his table and adjust the chair, with the dirty cup abandoned, he left his former elbow pad and backrest adrift, if that's how you would say it.

-I'm already tired. —He repeated to himself again to start heading down the road, not even he could say that he was tired, just fed up; In a way he was after so long, or however long it took his mind to process everything. Right there between his ears his nostrils slanted as if he were trying to smell pure sweetness.

—I think she deserves a dignified burial, we are blessed to have had her, and she is blessed to have us; That's what our father said. —

«I took a sigh, I didn't need to hear more talk that doesn't concern me.»

And just as it was stated, he started to take his departure for granted before the metallic tinkling painted in yellow that anticipated the farewell or arrival of a shooting star, which, for his fortune or contrary to it, no one took another look. and make a wish. Even if it means becoming a mestizo like the one who, like a colonizer, uproots it, he had to grab the door and move it once again; from which the bell rang, but only for himself. In reality, he was half a walk away from the cafeteria. One never think that by ringing a bell there will be a difference, if in the end you already left, it would be foolish to expect change, because if there would be; For you it would not be, nor would it belong to you.

«Are we really blessed? What is the blessing found in death? In dying. Maybe it's the relief of leaving our world, but I don't think stopping feeling is a relief; More of a nuisance in itself. But what can I talk about? I'm still alive, but it's really strange to think that some decide to see death as a blessing to endure the pain. I will never be able to accept it, I suppose that for me having to endure seeing someone die is a disenchantment of my mind, that is why I do not get close to death, but I do not think I can completely get away from it either. What I think is that, sometimes... My head hurts."

He told himself while among the overwhelming streets in which, even if he bumped shoulders with someone, he could ignore them as if it were nothing. In the end, he was just an irrelevant stranger, who, even if he was there, he would forget in a while; and if he did badly, he would forget the next day, or he would have a broken nose, from falling on his shoelaces while walking: they were childhood experiences, but he couldn't lie that they would happen again one day.

Seeing the reflections in the glass of a donut shop through which his passage intruded made him think that they might think something about him, something that only a reflection knows.

«I know your cat died, but I couldn't care more, come on, do you think you're the only one who has a bad time? My mother died a few months ago, you should be ashamed to think that cat should even have relevance in our world. What difference does she make? He deserved it, he was a fleathy, adorable, but stupid.»

—Now, shut the hell up. —He thought to himself, he hesitated with himself while he thought about things that had probably never been said to him in his life.

He put his hand on his face to cover one of his eyes and breathe deeply, definitely thinking so much about things he has never heard, but thinks he has. This affects more than lighting a firework and not letting it go does; The gunpowder explodes in your hand and you say goodbye to it, but it doesn't matter, hands grow back, right? No?

And what were the fireworks for? It could be due to the fact that his mind was exploding with those mirror thoughts as the fire was fueled in his emotional state, and in the perplexing reflection that left his mind.

«Pretty kitty, pretty kitty, don't hide, you're pretty. Don't hide, please, I don't want to take my eyes off you. Really, don't go, seriously, please. "Pretty kitty, pretty kitty, you're my little friend, please."»

He chased him, his pace quickened between sighs that took on weight as his shoulders collided with more reflexes, he turned, cat; Kitten come here, she thought, she continued walking at a fast pace while his legs began to feel light, breathing frantic, erratic.

The fleathy creature hid among the people and he had to look down to loosen the chain that was squeezing his stomach. His breathing was short and his gaze was filled with sweat that fell from his forehead and dried, obscuring his gaze. with a haze of exhaustion, which, was followed by a half-finished gasp and his abdomen tensing.

His diaphragm contracted as he let out a sharp gulp of air and the people around him became a blur of changing lights; lights that flickered and that at first glance made him opaque and submerged the glimpse of a concrete floor that faded from gray to jet black

.Jet, as well as the light that relentlessly blinded him in a blue color faintly turning into a misty purple that dismantled his mind and every thought that presented itself to him was and ephemeral fell from him while his hand bled, a friction that touched him. and he tried not to pull too hard because it would get stuck in his hand; as if to let go because he would go in vain, vigorous the breath that squeezed his lungs once he expelled the inside of the echo of him while he begged for one more, and another.

Even if the rhythm was broken by sobs of internal cacophony, the impact that shook his body pulled one of his shoulders towards the drop of the ravine to the north of his mind, where, he had to keep his left shoulder ready for Everest, so as not to let go of its already broken hook.

—Huff… Huff…— He gasped as his eyes glimpsed the robust and coarse patch of hair, rough and that hooked his ears at the sounds, but he was surprised to realize that his hearing took him further than any other. harvest fleas would inhale and raised his gaze with determination not to leave.

—Very fond of soaking in lies, aren't you? — With a laugh he told her who knows what she was.

-What do you want? —He said between erratic gasps as he lost hope of breathing once more.

—Come on, the first thing you ask someone like me is what they want? Ask what it is, for God's sake! — Mockery flashed his smile before the young man's ears, although this laughter certainly lacked the grace of a joke, instead being replaced by the misfortune of lack of gallantry in his speech.

—I'm not interested, I just... — He coughed heavily as he sighed slowly. —Just tell me what you're looking for... — she hesitated gently, rather, erratically.

The being put his hand to what he would guess was his chin, although he lacked one that he could see beyond his gaze.

—I'm looking for what I'm looking for, your life. —He said like that. —No nonsense, no mockery, just a lost soul that I have to collect. —

The jet of his eyes reflected the moonlight that intervened between them; he lacked pupils.

"My life? Of all of them, mine? No... It can't; simply no, it couldn't be that I'm coming to charge for who I am and what I was, I don't want to be a was, but an am, still.»

The eyes without a trace of mercy opened with the voice that gave him a turbulent sigh that ended in fury.

—You appreciate your life a lot, don't you? — She told him with a serene and hoarse voice. —Tell me, how much do you take it? — Take what?

Undoubtedly, with his throat wrapped around him, he felt like nodding while he tried to calm down the feeling of being an athlete and running, since he already lacked the breath to get back on the path.

He could see how the scratchy little ball looked him in the eyes, and with a lick of his whiskers he turned around to walk down the alley, towards where he didn't know, but surely he could still reach.

—Not so fast, stay still. — He ordered and obeyed order. —Take my hand and you will die, drink from my life and you will leave; let go of my eyes that you will be. —He touched his shoulder and looked into his eyes. —Look at it…—

Sigh…

Deep sigh…

Gasp… Ah… Ah…

—Ah! —He said as he snapped his head up, breathing heavily and with a heavy heart. - What happened? — He thought, as he raised his gaze, that he was glued to the ground that would allow him to see his bowed head. Nothing, there was nothing, it was the same cafeteria that gave him trouble. Nothing happened, surely, surely? He thinks. Why put up with the hassle? It was just a sign of impertinence, nothing more than a mere thought and a slight suspense while his back suffered a whinny that made him turn to the right, where there was nothing but people talking to each other, each one continuing with his own thing, some They had already left and others had perished.

Common and…

Perished?