Hopelessly Correct

    It happened; the end of the world didn't begin any sooner than it ended. There was no warning, no sign of impending demise. Not even a single death throe graced the mighty Earth. It ended.
    Just.
        Like.
            That.
    Time was irrelevant--time was a perception of human sense, to pass between bridges of activity. With no brides, time lost its purpose.
    That's what we'd done--all of us, be it millworkers, miners, show hosts, farmers, or even unborn children.
    It's amazing how the more we searched for our purpose, the further we strayed from the truth beneath our very feet. Our purpose and mission. To be.
    Potential. Compassion. Any dream we could dream we were meant to pursue. But when made too easy, when no incentive presented itself, we festered in our cushioned existence. We never saw the end coming.
    Even if we could... we would never look for it.
    I told you once, didn't I? What it was like to stand in eternity? The dream we all used to seek. Immortality.
    And I stood long at the edge of the abyssal void of forever before I returned to you, and begged you to come with me.
    I strode up to you, at a small cafe, I think. And I told you of my journey to deathlessness. And you stared at me, and called me insane.
Perhaps.
    Perhaps I was. But my insanity didn't stop me from begging you to reconsider. As the men in white carried me away.
    Locked me in a cell. Away from everyone. It's not healthy on a mind, this isolation. But had I stayed free, I'd still feel broken. Broken like my wrist under this slate from the ceiling. Like the chains of mortality I'd shattered long ago. I believe if any of you had survived, you'd beg my forgiveness in the knowledge I was right. But what comfort I would feel in that triumph has all but evaporated. What comfort would I gain from being right, when there's no one here to know it. I am truly.

Hopelessly.


Correct.