Aristotle praised knowledge as the highest form of happiness; I can tell you now that he is a damn fool.
Brilliance yes, I was given that but it is no blessing. I would rather have been a simple minded fool; now I am just a fool. Life made a fool of me. Yes, I could understand and excel at any concept you handed to me, but what good did that ever do me or anyone else?
All my knowledge has resulted in only one absolute truth; I will never be happy because I will never have the love of a woman, of anyone at all.
Life is no good to me; it offers me nothing. After years of trying to belong or form some kind of connection I am left with nothing. My brilliant mind can only come to one conclusion…It would have been much better had I simply been smothered to death at birth.
With that Erik finished his suicide note. Not that he believed anyone would ever read it, he just felt that on the off chance Nadir should come down and find him he should know exactly why he had done it. He had always seemed to care so much about Erik's affairs.
For one last time, Erik took up his needle. Morphine, always his great friend and enemy, would now serve to release him for one last time…slipping the surly bonds of earth.
Injection. His doses of the drug had become so increased as of late that he needed a lot to cause the desired affect. But he had more than enough.
Erik closed his eyes and slumped down at the small table in the dinning room in the house by the lake. No ceremony; no coffin or candles…he didn't care for any of those things. They meant nothing. He deserved no memorial; no one would remember him, no one would ever miss him.
Or then again…