The Part Where He Kills You

Scribbled by Sparrow


Times of silence, online and elsewhere, are often ended with a victorious proclamation of a still-beating heart. That glorious phrase, "I'm alive!",  which serves the purpose of keeping acquaintances from scanning the newspapers for recent obituaries, and relatives from removing your name from the will, is a handy thing when one really wants to get the point across. All in all, it’s rather a comforting thing to see when you have been questioning the sustained existence of a friend. Provided it’s true, that is, and the fellow in question is still alive and kicking somewhere.

Well. I'm not.

 I'm not alive. For the past eight weeks, I have been dying a slow, agonizing death. Painful? Well, sure. That depends on how guilty you will feel for not being beside me in my sufferings, and how inclined you will thus be to send offerings of your sympathy. Flowers, notes, white chocolate, books, music... virtually anything, except a biology textbook or your neighbor's cat, will do. 
 
Not that I wouldn't love your neighbor's kitty to death. I would, possibly literally, so I don't suggest you package it up and send it thisaway unless your neighbor has signed some sort of liability form. And I’m afraid I’ve only just dug myself out of the pile of textbooks I’ve been buried beneath for the past eight weeks, and I really wouldn’t know what to do with another one. For there I have been languishing, beneath my books of anatomy and physiology and chemistry, in all the glory and valor and sleeplessness of eight-week school.  

I have not sent e-mails. I have not written letters. I have not made blog posts (save for the guest appearance of my Consciousness in January); nor have I associated with the outside world.  

In short, I am no longer alive. Farewell, world. It was nice knowing you. 

So, 

NOW THAT YOU KNOW YOU ARE TALKING TO MY GHOST,
There is this matter of death to be spoken of.


There are certain times when I wake up, sudden-like, and realize that I am dead.

It’s a startling thing, this being dead. But not so alone; I have company, and I dare say it’s of the nicest sort. The family sort, the sort that allows me to sit here and ramble on about the inexplicable, and then shut me up and tell me to get to the point. So I will. This is it:

Therefore if you have been raised up with Christ, keep seeking the things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your mind on the things above, not on the things that are on earth.  For you have died and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is our life, is revealed, then you also will be revealed with Him in glory.
COLOSSIANS 3:1-4

I have died to sin, to the world, to the conforming nets that trapped me before I was freed by the Son. The butterfly nets can catch me no longer; I’ve metamorphosed, and though I still fight the flesh, my soul is caught with Christ in the promise of Resurrection.

For I have died with Him; yet He has risen, and I as well. Death has lost its sting. The ending of the Curse has been written. Existance is new as the Sought and Saved put on new wings for the seeking of the Lost.

There are certain times when I wake up, sudden-like...

and wouldn't you know, it seems I’m alive.
Category: 2 missives