Life

Each passing day is muddled and clowdy. One week melds into the other, and the months are an endless string of days, with no beginnings or ends.

It is destined for the human soul to walk through this treadmill of time. And so he walks, putting one foot in front of the other, feeling the days roll by and at the same time, feeling stuck.

No matter what he does, he would still feel empty. As if something was missing in his life.

But he continued to trudge through. Days would pass, then weeks, and years. Slowly, his strength would ebb away. Weariness would sink in and life would become dreary. The emptiness would grow.

His eyes, blurred with age, could no longer see like they used to. But it no longer mattered to him. For no matter how far ahead he looked, he could see no end. No amount of squinting would reveal any exit from the endless loop of days. And so, there was no need to see.

His ears could no longer hear like they used to. They stopped telling him of what was coming or going. They no longer warned him of what was around him anymore. There was no need for that now. He had heard all there was to hear. He did not wish to hear anymore. It was all the same. Life never changed.

His nose no longer sniffed the fresh air with gladness. Staleness did not bother him anymore. He couldn't tell the difference. It was all the same bland scent. He couldn't care less for it. Not anymore.

Nothing mattered. All that he yearned for, was an end. An end to the monotany. A stop to the endless droning. A finality to the tickings of the clock and the rotation of the earth. He just wanted to stop.

It was all he could ask for. To escape the grey silent movie that was now his life. To be free of the ringing, disembodied quietness of his life. Then again, what more was a dead man supposed to ask for?