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AFRAID OF DEATH..
#WritcoStoryPrompt115
Do you want to live because you are afraid to die? If you think something should be written about the question, go ahead and do so.
My whole life, as long as I can remember, I’ve been afraid of dying. The fear seems to hit me in waves, but it’s always there.
Why am I afraid? I can’t even begin to fathom that my life will end, that my body will stop functioning and that all the thoughts, love and sorrows I bear with me will vanish.
I’ve heard that the older one gets, the more one comes to term with the fact that life isn’t endless. That we have been given a certain amount of time to live, and all we can do is try to make the best out of it.
I can just neglect the various thoughts, and then at other times I desperately stare out into the vast emptiness hoping to find some way to be strong enough to withstand the psychological terror a fear of death brings to ourselves.
Some of mine have been dreams of actually dying, waking up in the middle of the night, drenched with sweat and literary screaming my anxiety out into the room; my mind boggling and my body shaking with reluctance against the implication of death.
Maybe we’re all incarnated from who knows how long back in time. There is the slightest chance that we might remember and carry with us who we are, and that’s the fraction of hope I cling on to.
Nevertheless, my fear is still there.
© neeraj grover
Do you want to live because you are afraid to die? If you think something should be written about the question, go ahead and do so.
My whole life, as long as I can remember, I’ve been afraid of dying. The fear seems to hit me in waves, but it’s always there.
Why am I afraid? I can’t even begin to fathom that my life will end, that my body will stop functioning and that all the thoughts, love and sorrows I bear with me will vanish.
I’ve heard that the older one gets, the more one comes to term with the fact that life isn’t endless. That we have been given a certain amount of time to live, and all we can do is try to make the best out of it.
I can just neglect the various thoughts, and then at other times I desperately stare out into the vast emptiness hoping to find some way to be strong enough to withstand the psychological terror a fear of death brings to ourselves.
Some of mine have been dreams of actually dying, waking up in the middle of the night, drenched with sweat and literary screaming my anxiety out into the room; my mind boggling and my body shaking with reluctance against the implication of death.
Maybe we’re all incarnated from who knows how long back in time. There is the slightest chance that we might remember and carry with us who we are, and that’s the fraction of hope I cling on to.
Nevertheless, my fear is still there.
© neeraj grover
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