"If no one loves you, cares about you, do you really exist at all?" ~Clockwork Prince, by Cassandra Clare
When I was younger, I used to get caught up in thought processes. One, the most common and hardest to get away from, was the idea that when I died, when I was no longer alive, I'd be all alone in my afterlife while everyone down there would be happy, just as they were without me. The world would keep going, never lose its momentum, and would forget about me, as if I'd never existed. I refuse to let myself believe there's only loneliness after death, because that doesn't exactly make it any better. Even if I wind up in hell, I want reassurance I won't be alone. I don't want to rot six feet underground while my spirit is having just as much of a terrible time up above or down below.
I'm not scared of death. I'm scared of what comes after it. The uncertainty. My parents, well, I'd told them this thought all the time, and they probably believe it's gone, dead, lost. I wish it was, buried just like the tragedy of my past. But it's not, stuck with me wherever I go. What if all the happiness I'd ever accumulated in my short time on earth is erased because of what lies after death? I hate not knowing what lies in wait for me at the end of my life.
I don't want to be alone. I say I do, sure, but I...that's when the darkness creeps in, surrounds my subconscious, leaves me alone to face the shadows. I don't want that. I want to die wrapped in the arms of angels, or of someone who loves me. That's all I ask, god. Is that too much to ask for? To die happy?
Please, God, just this one thing. Please.
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