Conductor

Sleep is no longer a necessity, but rather a negotiation with my ego. Exhaustion claims to be my second shadow while my eyes see nothing but the next step along my journey.

I am aware the path I walk is not one meant for ordinary people to tread. I am also convinced that my suffering must amount to something. The blood I spill will nurture whatever it is I am trying to forcefully bring to life. Just a little bit more, and then I can rest.

My hands tremble beneath the weight of responsibilities, yet nothing will fall from them. I refuse to submit. I am not weak. I never have been. There is something within me that knows begging for mercy would be worse than death. Living on my knees is a life not worth living at all. Perhaps that is what preserves my vision even as my mind begins to fray at the edges.

Losing was never an option. My path has only two endings: success or death. The only question is which will arrive first.

The nicks come first. I will endure.
The fists come next. I can endure.
The slashes follow soon after. I must endure.
The bullet wounds mock the previous sources of pain. I will endure.
Eventually, I no longer know where the pain originates. At that point, I have no choice but to endure.

It is only when I feel nothing at all that I realize I am standing alone beneath the night sky, half-conscious and staring upward at the moon as the world around me continues to blur.

And for the first time, a thought enters my mind that terrifies me more than failure ever could:

Why am I doing this to myself?

Is there truly more beyond this?
What am I chasing?
Am I the conductor, or have I been the instrument being played this whole time?

I seek reprieve from this tedium.