Passing Through

AI art by Luis Pons

There’s a juncture. Scourging of torridity lapses. I’m here trying to sleep off torment but cannot escape the constant replay of the day before. How foolish are we to think ourselves immortal while alive? Even in the death of others—loved and related—we don’t quite grasp that we too will soon be like them...dead. For me, a repose. But then again, that was yesterday.

I squirm with failing effort to reach a less anguishing position, partially numb to physical agony but not to emotion, a thing that afflicts me worse. All attempts towards any rest are further disrupted by perpetual shrieks, wailing, and screams. I get it, it’s hot. Hotter than what any soul can endure. What do you expect? It’s hell.

You’d think infinity would lend a hand in acclimating to such a place. It does not. Yesterday, when I casually made an arrangement with the gods to experience a day in the underworld and another in nirvana, I didn’t give due scrutiny to what I would undergo. Everyman’s spirit will retire in a realm beyond time once they’ve perished. Death visits, and often without consent or preview; This is certain. And Earthly living is fleeting…something only discernible in eternity.

My skin crawls to a boil; a misery I cannot put exact words to. With every blink, the sensation of rusty razors lacerate my eyes. Relief is not possible, only woe. Even so, a fraction of alleviation is worth obsessing over. I’d do anything to forgo this never-ending inhalation of brimstone if just for half a breath.

I’m convinced I’m not going to make it, but I will. My arrangement was for nirvana last, a place I yearn more so every waking instant. Enduring this forever day has doomed me to an endless rewind on how I should’ve spent my time yesterday. I scream in pain over it.

How will you spend your day?