Journal Entry: Summer 2725 BC

It’s time for another journal entry, this time not from my main protagonist, but from one of my supporting characters. He plays an extremely important role in the series, and I plan on sharing his story mostly through these entries. They won’t be posted in order, only sporadically as I’m working on them and other things for the books. They won’t be in the books, but eventually might make up a book of their own so they can be read in order with ease.

Anyway, here’s something from Phoenix.

Summer 2725 BC…?

Another long day. A long week? Maybe it’s been a month. Maybe even a year. It has become nearly impossible to tell time anymore. I need see the sun or moon, I can never tell if it is day or night. There are no windows in this room or any of the others attached to it. I am not even sure what the season is. Michael has not been staying in his room, and it feels like forever between the times that I do see him.

Without him staying here, it’s become almost impossible to know how much time has passed. I can assume that he was only here for a few hours this time, but it may have been days. My heartbeat lies, and my body betrays me. I no longer feel hunger, my heart changes pace as it pleases, and there are days in which I wonder if I have felt it beat at all or taken a breath until I realize I should inhale.

It’s almost as though breathing is merely an option now, not a necessity. How can one live without breathing? Not that I would call my existence here living, it is barely surviving, but all creatures must breathe in order to live. That is one of the first lessons any creature learns. Without air, there is only death. How, then, can I take no breaths for what may be hours and my body still functions as it should? Michael explained to me when he took me that he saved me from death, but if I no longer need to breathe, does that not mean that I technically am dead? And in that sense, would this be what the afterlife truly is? Pain and suffering, torture, loneliness, self-loathing? Would that then not mean that there was no one waiting to save me and bring me to my parents?

Just a false hope that it really did work as I was raised to believe, that once you die, your family and ancestors awaited you on the other side to embrace you and welcome you back into their loving arms. Maybe that was all a lie made up to make people feel better when they are on their death beds, to comfort them and nothing more. Maybe there really isn’t anything after death but the separation of your consciousness from your living body so that it may be left to dwell on all of the wrong-doings of your life on earth. Maybe that’s what it’s all about. I have to come to terms with the way I was made to live when given no choice. I have to pay for the sins I committed as a child before I will be allowed finally move on. Maybe. I’m not sure I even believe that, but what choice do I have but to keep my hope that maybe someday I will get to see my family again.


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