I grew weary of my life, so I decided to set out for the end of the universe.
I wouldn't say it was for any specific reason. After a monotonous, rather short life — one dotted with glass shards of pain and melancholy — I looked at all I had accumulated and saw a mosaic.
My life, in all its splendor, amounted simply to a mosaic comprised of endless shades of grey. If I were so inclined, I would title it: Scenes to Help You Sleep. Unfortunately, such a work is not worthy of a name...though while you're here, we may as well spare it a glance.
I remember being a child surrounded by toys. I couldn't tell you what specific toys were in my possession, but I think I had them a while longer than my memory reaches. As I grew older, we would slowly give each piece away, and my parents would lament over how much I used to enjoy playing with them. From the moment I knew how to remember, I simply could not recall any interest in those inanimate objects.
My earliest memory, however, is pain. It has served as an adequate backdrop to this canvas. I remember running as fast as my legs can carry me, brimming with such excitement as only a child could have. Over what, I couldn't tell you; but I ran as fast as I could past the gate to the bungalow we called home. I dashed along the row of parked cars, not taking in a single thing around me. I had to get home!
My singular focus was shattered upon the rear view mirror of the car I ran into.
The flash of pain was seared into my mind. As I lost consciousness, I remember the warmness of blood, a voice of deep concern, two carrying deeper reproach — and the rest, imperceptible, faded into fog.
To me, it seems this memory bestowed upon me a...sensitivity to suffering. My gaze casts across the mosaic, and is drawn to a few especially sepruchal fragments.
But we can reminisce later. In fact, we will have all the time to break my past apart, collect the pieces, and turn them over in multitudes within the wheel of introspection. The gist of it is that I suffered quite a lot. I wouldn't say my life was harder than the average person, not by any means. But what little pain I had to endure would nearly break me, time and time again. It was as if I felt more than others around me, like my nerves were exposed to the wind, ready to scream at the slightest provocation.