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The Last Will of a Dieing Old Man

Short story in letter form

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The Last Will of a Dieing Old Man

The last great unknowns of our world, what are they? The Earth’s core? The deep depths of the ocean? So many questions, so many still left unanswered, so many of us are left longing to know more about the wonders that lie unknown to us, simply because we are curious beings or because we are power ridden animals that need to conquer everything, every place and far to often everyone. The unknown is a funny beast, as mere men our curiosity wills us to strive on further and further, to dig deeper and deeper into the bowls of unfinished symphonies, our hollow egos guide our fluttering hearts off into the wilderness to scare ourselves and to feel more important than our creator ever intended us to be.

We fear, yet relish the unknown, like a child at the top of a slide, yet the true unknowns of our world are not the ones that great explorers, aching muscles et all search for or the ones that wonderful minds pour over in places where great minds pour. The greatest unknowns are the ones that remain incoherent throughout history and will remain that way for ever more.

The ones that remain unexplainable, the feelings that touch us all, the feelings that all of us fight with, play with, ignore, embrace, the feelings that certify our existence, that confirm and stand as proof of life. So many scientists insist that feelings are chemical reactions, so be it, that doesn’t explain the vast complex nature of their very essence. Feelings have, almost at times, a life of their own, as if they are living for a purpose; they seem to have more direction than ourselves more often or not; or at lest that seems to have been the case for me.

I am old man, I am about to die. I can not flower that up any more for you. You probably don’t feel much for me, simply because I am someone you do not know, however you no doubt have a human quality about you, at least I hope you do (my humanity shows it self in the form of desperation) I hope your humanity shows itself through the form of compassion, I feel the need not to feel alone, yet that may be a silly thing to wish for as ultimately we are all alone; yet my tiny mind, which is tiny in the great scheme of things, no matter how much of my life I have convinced myself that it is a large brain with worthy things floating through it, finds some small amount of comfort from thinking, from believing, that one of you, if there is more than one of you reading this, that one of you, feels something for me, despite not knowing me or anything about me.

This is my last will and testament, it is not much, it is my final thoughts, the boring bit:
My house and all my belongings I tie in bonds and wish all of it to end up to a worthy charity of the reader’s choice.
My pen which I write this with I give to you the reader, who has found this, thank you.

 

 


My final, final thoughts:

My life has been empty, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound depressing, I am not a depressed man, yes I know that most people are! I am not though, a lot of people would argue that I should be, but those who argue such arguments are really not worth thinking about, how sad it must be to argue that someone must be sad when simply they are not, it makes me think that those who argue such matters must in fact be the saddest of us all. When I say my life has been empty I mean it, I have lived for nothing worthwhile, I have spent my life in search of something that my soul, even if I found it could not grasp on to. I have no children, I have never felt love.
I don’t hate myself; I simply just don’t love myself either. I know myself well, too well I could say. I know that I was never looking for love, I know that to be a good thing though when it comes to love, so I don’t blame myself for not searching, yet actually that’s different, that’s it. I was never searching, searching is different from looking right? It is probably safe to search for love but not look for it; I don’t know why I write so much about love, I do not regret not having been in love, but I do wish I had been.

I never found those things, those discoveries I thought that would make me great, I never got rich, I never got poor; in honesty I am pretty irrelevant. Yet my human stupidity still wills me to write this down like it is going to survive at the end of it all and that to someone this will mean something. This is a selfish act, a selfish recording of words, these are not words meant to comfort or allow anyone to rejoice, these are selfish words from a lonely, scared old man who is about to die. I am sorry, very sorry for being so terribly good at being human, so very sorry that these words that bring comfort to no one else bring some light comfort to my dieing soul.


Good bye.

Goodbye Forever

Good bye.

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