Today, at 5 o'clock in the afternoon, I died. I used to think that death was something more grandiose than just a simple flash of sharp pain and a creeping darkness enveloping my vision. For some reason, I used to believe that after death, a person's soul would be carried through hell, so they could see the torment that sinners underwent in it. However, I can't see hell where I am now, nor can I see sinners. All I can see is violets, all around me, which serve as a reminder of my throes and suffering, which have finally come to an end. Now… I'm finally free. I was always afraid of being killed, but now that I am dead, I realize that it is just a release from the shackles of my past. Nothing holds me back now. Am I mad at my killer? Of course I am, but the fault is mine, for I was foolish in suspecting that he would not return to me once more. But I was so glad that I had finally escaped from him, and that I could now start my life from scratch. Well, I have escaped his grasp, but now I cannot return.
Yesterday, at 5 o'clock in the afternoon, I died. Death is a completely new experience for me… You know, if I don't pay attention to these ubiquitous violets, it's not that bad here. I don't need to worry about food or shelter. Now that I am here, I can lead the same carefree lifestyle of my past, before the day that Gray took me away. Here, I feel even better than I used to feel before; I no longer have to worry about the pain and grief of the past, the money and chores that surmounted my comfort. I am free.
A week ago, at 5 o'clock in the afternoon, I died. Yeah, I know that I'm repetitive, but what could be more monotonous and repetitive than death? No need to answer, it was a rhetorical question. I do not know when it is best to speak up in protest. Like when Gray found me. I didn't ask to be saved, so why did he take me? No no… why did I obey him in the first place? Why did I die? Why does death feel like an endless repetition of the last moment of my life, when it is supposed to be the release from my turmoil? The same experience. Time after time, I scroll through the memories in my head. His voice, his face, his body, my death throes and the following ecstasy…
Three months ago, at 5 o'clock in the afternoon, I died. I died, I died, at 5 o'clock. In the afternoon? In the morning? In the night? The time… The time… The time is out of joint. I don't even remember how I died. I don't even remember how I met the one whom I truly felt in love with. I don't remember when… where am I?