Grandpa’s Pistol

An unloaded gun placed upon your forehead by your own hand grants a slice of perspective that you can take all the way to hell with you.

Potential is what’s scary. The concept of just turning it off. There is an exciting side to it, it must be said. Humans think they know everything, but one thing they can at least feign ignorance on is death. Sure, humans know that the body rots. It breaks down. Identification of the necrophages that feast upon the remains, a name? Gender, age- they can be added, calculated, surmised, addendumed and chronicled. It’s the moment between the final heartbeat and the last breath, where the body is still alive but struggling against the damage done. That moment will ever be hidden to us.

Smell the rot of a body on the road. It’s easy- humans kill things without even trying they’re so godamn useless. Roadkill in summer, a special nostalgia it carries with it. The stink is what can be remembered, but not because it is foul. It’s the confrontation of death, the confrontation of mortality n’ rot. That’s what’s special. In the beginning, it is easy to be repulsed by such odors. The odor of decay is never pleasant regardless of what is breaking down.

Pleasant, however. It can be enjoyed in a non-traditional sense. It is a reminder of death, the only consequence that humanity can understand. It is also penance- pay for your guilt by witnessing suffering and death and you too can be cleansed in the righteous pain that you yourself have inflicted. This is something good, but there is another side that is utterly hopeless through ignorance.

Why suffer? It’s a question that must be asked sooner or later. We all have reasons why we choose to avoid, or embrace suffering and self-torment. Is it just routine? A role that can be learned over time and patience? I don’t care.

Suffering is universal. From the lowliest cell to the mightiest creature, suffering is there from birth ’till death, metaphorical and tangible. Delay is inevitable. It is all mortality can ever hope for when reaching for immortality. Rot is inevitable. So is suffering. Suffering carries with it a beauty that is never seen simply because it is hidden below the misery that blinds humans to the world around them, to the world within.

Gun oil, time, dry rot, leather, wisdom, old spice, soap, an unending smile. Nostalgia creeps in even when the gun is placed against your head.

How do you picture your death? Is it beautiful? Peaceful? Is it a wish, your death? Are you the type that wishes to go without pain? I have seen death plenty of times to know that most die in agony, illness, or misery. Will you still smile when it is the final moment between your body living to your body dying? Smell the rot and see if you can still grin.

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