Work Text:
We spend our lives clinging to life.
Clinging to hope.
When life is nearly gone, why is it that it becomes less precious to us?
When there are fewer than 1,000 humans left, why is it so easy to throw out an innocent life?
I just want to live. Is that so wrong? Why doesn't anybody else want that?
I sob, hopelessly screaming into the void.
Is it the alcohol? The CO2? The countless waves of radiation I soaked in, desperate for the last shard of light I could find down here; are they finally getting to me?
Is it my head?
In my head or slammed into my brain when I slammed into the cold metal cage that letters my death in the purest crimson?
Or is it us?
The void answers back.
It’s us, they said.
It was created for us, and it happened for us, and it’s made of us.
Human blood.
How incredibly cruel.
It came to fix us; the outcome of our hubris, the result, used to extract even more blood.
To paint this dusty rock with our sins.
We are all the fish, and we are all the bait, and we are the ship as teeth plunge in, destroying us all.
Perhaps, now that the ocean has settled once more, we can finally be the life raft.