GuNNhead

It feels like everything ends up being insignificant, but rarely in the moment; insignificant people leading insignificant lives, breathing insignificant breaths, drinking insignificant water from an insignificant source from an insignificant cup. Insignificant jobs, insignificant pay, insignificant coworkers, insignificant buses, insignificant traffic, insignificant small talk.

Internally.

Externally, there is an entire system at work, there are always incalculable systems at play, to make the cup, to clean the water and make sure all the insignificant people are able to imbibe. It is mind boggling when one truly gets down to it. Billions of people over the course of history eventually created all of these people, and they all will eventually find meaning on the other side, there is something, a path that’s to be followed, and chain of possibility and determination that which cannot be ignored. Even our very cells cry out for something, something more. There is a developed system at play even inside all of us, simply to ensure we function correctly. Yes, we have modified it in most circumstances, but that is now merely part of the experience of being alive. I, personally, have had my cells modified, but can still plainly see the connection of lineage and thought trees that created who I am now, and how I came to be here. This all fits. It all fits, no matter how you look at it, it all fits, and will fit. It just makes sense, every last iota of it all, the entire universe and all the dimensions make sense, in the long, fateful run of it. We’re both the painter and the puzzle maker, but there is something, some, grand, cosmic, scheme that already knows what we will see once we paint each individual piece and what the epic majesty of the puzzle-painting will be once we assemble it.

Let us keep existing:

In life, there are allusions that must be seen, allusions to what we must suppose are the truths beyond the grave. If one can see, or learn to see, these connections, these allusions in our everyday life, if you can see that strings that fate has on all of our corporeal forms, then you can live life happily, knowingly, for fate smiles upon those who see her strings. She sees this as the puppet finally coming to life, taking a life of its own, an intelligence acquired from beyond the stars, within our selves.

Knowing of my fate:

I know how to repair this ship from the outside, I can do it, since the problem cannot be fixed from inside. None have ever been outside, inside of this dimensional pocket. Though, it’s impossible to read if it’s really a pocket, or the truest expanse of our own dimension, with more beyond that. It’s not my fate to remain in this empty ship and die, it can’t be, I know fate has more in store for me. I’m going to take my chances out there, fix my ship, and return home. The Gravity of the situation is not lost on me, and it may never be. Perhaps, no matter the truth, it’s time to ascend through the cosmic dimension.

Trapped in hyperspace, surrounded by sights I can never hope to understand in this nowhere to be found dimension. The warp engine disengaged irregularly, and instead of taking me out of the drive utilized for faster than light travel, it trapped me here, this… dimension. I’ve exhausted my options and ideas in trying to repair it. It’s as if I’m frozen in a lake, a misty, covered space. I’ve been alone for so long now, surviving easily off the provided supplies, I could probably survive much longer, but the question has been biting at me: do I want to? What does it mean to die?

As I remain motionless out here, I think back upon my entire life. It was good, but mundane. Though, I suppose most could say that about their own lives. I enjoyed it, for the most part. I always looked up beyond the sky, and wondered if I would ever get up here; I’m happy that I get to eventually die so specially, the first man to die of starvation in hyperspace. Well, it’s more of a personal record, as I’ll never be found, and, well, I know that others have been lost in space, but since they were lost and never found, I can still say that I’m the first to die like this, they could have died by so many other means.

I’ve set out from my home planet, Loameria, to find myself, to explore, tour the universe’s wonder. Now, I hope there’s an afterlife to explore. Or, rather, that there is no ‘afterlife’, that after this life is our next stage in evolution. Maybe the idea of becoming a being of pure essence is possible. After this life, which is used to gain a frame of reference, the essence of ourselves leaves that earthly husk, and is taken on a similar tour I had planned for myself, to be able to communicate of a higher level with all of the beings that passed the trail of life. Maybe we unify the universe when we arrive in the ever after.

Outside my spaceship, the lights blind while the darkness gives me vision. There is movement, perhaps. I’d call it swirling, but it’s not quite swirling, or even spinning or rotating, though it gives me the feeling that that’s what it’s doing. The outside. It’s unknowable. It’s bright, but I can’t see the light, I can only see the darkness as a light. The shapes are none like I’ve ever seen, they almost make no sense in my brain, but I can see them as clear as possible. It’s all enveloped in the othergrey. I’m enveloped. I’ve been alone for weeks, but have never felt lonely, left to my own devices. The outside, this dimension, keeps my mind.