No, bad dog! Don't chew on your brother; I don't care if he has extra legs! Go chew on a person, or something. And you get back here! Do not try to swallow your sister; you know she has a torture chamber! Back to your bath tub! Calm down honey, we can go to the cemetery and look at bodies lat- Oh hey, didn't see you guys there! Uhm… ignore that. Anyways, I know I've been gone a long time, and I do apologize for that. My other work is still on hiatus due to my writers block, unfortunately, and I don't know if I'll ever finish it. I thought I might; Heaven forbid, write an angsty little drabble today; it doesn't apply distinctly to any set pairing or fandom, so you may use your imagination as you please. Now, without further ado, my piece.

-Aramasi

I am dying.

There is no escaping this simple fact, and there is nothing to do about it, but wait. What I have is an incurable disease; that eats away not at the body or mind, but at the emotions. This plague has no name, and no cure. I can only suffer, and wait.

Seeking solace is not an option. The mere idea of speaking, or writing, to my loved ones makes me ill; puts me in such a state of unease, that seemingly has no cause, that I cannot bear to face them. My chambers and my bed no longer offer me solace, like they did for a short while; as I slept away through most hours that made up both the days and the nights. Sleeping is dreamless, and does not relieve my burden of utter exhaustion that clings onto my very bones. Days drift by in a sort of incorporeal limbo; and they are starting to blend together. Nothing matters much anymore. I do not eat, because I do not feel hunger. I do not drink, for I no longer thirst. Food is tasteless and unappealing, and even water leaves a vile taste in my mouth. But nothing ever changes. Hope is a foreign concept to me.

Constantly reminded of my condition by a lingering rasp deep within my lungs, I have stopped trying to sooth my symptoms. Coughing and retching to the point of losing whatever was in my stomach at the time has become a usual occurrence. I've stopped fighting it. Honestly, I don't think I could fight it if I tried. I am too tired… so, so tired, and so cold. Never have I lost so much… of anything. I can't feel any ambitions for my former hopes and dreams present in my mind anymore. Why bother? I'm going to die. I would've died even if I hadn't gotten sick; time kills everything. Even the stars die. I fail to see the point in living for anything.

I could never kill myself; oh no, I lack the drive for that. Forcing someone to kill me would be too strenuous a task as well. So I will sit here, and simply exist; for awhile. I will go willingly with Death. Even Hell, I am assured, would be better than this living nightmare. Or is it a nightmare? I don't get those anymore either.

I am no longer a physical presence, in this world; a fading image, a shimmering reflection. There is not a light at the end of the tunnel. I know now; I understand. I stopped living; emotionally, mentally. My body is a mere husk. I am neither ghost, nor undead. I see the truth of reality. Those things that feast on the souls of the living cannot live, and so, they cannot die. I am forever frozen; outside the cycle… to forever exist, but yet, not. There is no God in this place; only the void.

I am so cold…