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Untitled (I Never Meant to Lose the Sun)

You have to understand… I never intended for us to fall so low. But I cannot put the blame on anyone else but myself. Fate didn’t twist its strings and gods didn’t play their dice; it was simply what is called a mistake... something I haven’t come across in countless years.

My dear, I am afraid. I am beyond terrified of not knowing our fate, and I know you are too. We can’t escape the grasp of darkness and pretend that everything will be alright when my mistake is right in front of our faces, cocking a gun to my forehead painstakingly slowly. I can only hope the sweat gleaming on it can somehow put out the flint - that it’ll protect me and save the world, but I know it won’t.

I never knew the biggest horror that could be was the sociological effect of catastrophe. I almost want to laugh at my ignorance; I thought it would be the sun exploding. The surprise that hit my face when the exact opposite happened could’ve been framed… if there were any light in the moment. But the darkness consumed all reactions and reveled in them, leaving us to cry out for safety and hope that the cold won’t freeze our tears too soon.

Oh, no, I never meant to lose the sun. For the light to be eaten and the solar system to be the closest to erased it could get. I had never intended for my enemy to call out a hunt for you and me, or our dear friends who wanted nothing more than our love and instead got humanity’s fear struck through their hearts. A witch hunt at its finest; a plea for safety that light could not deliver, but could be the victim of. I never knew that my fate would be the face of those who loved me forever, and I never knew I could be so close to human again.

A lot of people are afraid to be immortal. To be a god. But the funny contrast in this is that I’m terrified to be human. To be played by emotions and swayed by fear; betraying all that you could ever know to stay alive another day if your life was at stake. Gods do not have that liberty; they’re emotional, but rational beings where fear is nothing but another dampened emotion from thousands of years of living. So humans to us are a selfish, skittish race of beings who are even more powerful than any god could dream of, despite their lack of powers.

And here I am, a gun pressed harshly to my forehead, with a terrified human staring into my eyes like I was some monster under their bed.

Somehow, I feel the need to pray.

What do gods pray to? Do we just get the hopeless, petty prayers of the people and have nothing to pray to ourselves? Holding all of the grievances and the stress of humankind without some sort of purgance for our own boggled minds? What is the existence of a god without anything to lead them?

I was the lead, and now I am lost in the tsunami of my own thoughts.

The person holds their gun shakily, sweat threatening to make the gun slip out of their hand.

Perhaps this is a goodbye that you’ll never hear. It’s almost sad that in the faint glow of the moon, I find my murderer quite interesting. Should I be remembering every inch of the sweat-soaked face when instead I should be remembering you?

It’s strange, the existence of a god. What makes us so different from humans? Perhaps it is the dulling we’ve experienced from millenia of living. Maybe it’s the powers, or the immortality. But when it all comes down to it, aren’t we just hopeless creatures looking for something to save us? Aren’t we all selfish, emotion-driven creatures?

After all, you are holding a gun to my head.

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