I love sleeping. If for no other reason than not having to deal with this stupid world, I love sleeping. And not having to deal with the emotional and psychological trauma of seeing my loved ones die one by one to the chains of time and fate, gives it a huge plus in my book.
Every time I wake up from dreaming, I find the world a little different from how I used to remember. And it's fascinating how I used to take the change with relish without much emotional connection, only to forget it by the time I start sleeping. Of course, it was very painful at the beginning, but at some point, I started to become numb to all of it.
I love the change that happens to me, and my surroundings, every time I wake up. Even though I realize that I'm becoming slightly 'not me' everytime I become more numb, I still enjoy the change. For it proves that in this never-ending eternity, there is something that proves that an 'eternity' has indeed passed. That 'I' had, and am still, indeed exist. That however broken I become, I still exist.
That's why, when I became able to hear the voice, I was so distressed. I lost my sleep and was not able to make any sense of what's happening to me. Why? Why me? I only want to exist silently. To observe things calmly as a bystander. I've even become numb all emotions and motivations by this point, but suddenly being able to hear THEM, and feel their emotions so clearly that it's practically blasting my emotional state with a nuclear warhead, still hurts so badly. So badly that I want to cease to exist if only to NOT hear anything else. But it's not possible. I've long become immortal.
'It's my destiny', they said.
'As a witness of time, it's your responsibility to listen to us all.', they said.
It was then. I started to hate. Hate everything painful. It was the second strongest emotion I've come to experience after I became numb to emotions of humanity. My previous race. And it became what I only think of.
Everyday, all I did was listen. Listen to their stories. Of how they came to be, of how they lived, of how they died, and everything that constitutes 'them'.
And as the number of voices I became able to hear increased, I slowly became used to it. It became what I am. I started to think. It's not fair that only you guys get to say something. Even I want to speak.
But it's no good. In this ever-changing world, my voice was truly weak. True, I was an immortal, but that's what I am. I realized. That sleep is but an illusion created within oneself as a means of protection. Against the world. Against change. So that we'd not be so weary. So that we could see hope. So that we could see a glimpse to an end in this never-ending eternity.
And I started hating sleeping.
First non author comment. Thanks for the chapter.
Now that I'm re-reading this, I realize how cringey this is. I wanted to make an emotional backstory but it ended with cringe. It's good, but it can be better. Hmm, I should review and edit it more.