No End

by Mara Beth

"Maybe I killed a man. Maybe I've died and gone to hell because I killed. This idea appeals to me. I am a killer. I hold no remorse. I have killed and will kill again."

Help.

Help me.

I can't see an end.

There is no end.

I see pipes. I see pipes forever. All of them perfectly arranged with just the right amount of space between them to ruin my life and taunt me over my deformed wings. I keep crashing into them. Every time I fall, I'm immediately back- flying through pipes. Is this some sick, twisted experiment? Am I in a lab somewhere, locked away and being observed as I flap through?

I don't remember anything before this. I don't remember my name. I am Bird. Did I have a family? Friends? A job? Maybe I had a nest. A nest of tiny little orange and red birds. Maybe I had a mate? Maybe I was in performances. Maybe I was a laughing stock. Did people cage me and laugh at my little wings? Maybe I was a criminal. Maybe I killed a man. Maybe I've died and gone to hell because I killed. This idea appeals to me. I am a killer. I hold no remorse. I have killed and will kill again.

It's not real, but then again, I have no right to deem what is reality and what is falsehood. I am a bird trapped in what very well may be hell. Or a laboratory. Or an alternate dimension. Or a game. Or my own mind. I am a bird, I am a killer, I am a performer, I am a writer, I am a politician, I am a plumber. I am whatever I say I am, because I am nothing.

I have left behind worldly things and possessions. I have flapped away from this plane of existence. I have transcended physical being.

I, Flappy Bird, am a god.