Death is Eternal #393
Sunday. March 25, 2024. 2,566 words.
Am I panicking on a Sunday morning? Perhaps. Why? Well, after months of unemployment... Wait, you don’t know about that? Well, then I recommend you upgrade your subscription and read all “Life” sections from Death is Eternal #385 until #392, anyway... After months of unemployment, I began a new job last week, and although that’s terrific news, it also presents some challenges for this newsletter, i.e., I no longer have free time on Mondays, which means having to write on Sundays regardless of what happens. Since I had a lazy Sunday in my mind, I started to panic. Nothing major, for sure. I’ll get over it, mostly because I love to write. Regardless, I panicked when I remembered my lazy Sunday couldn’t be all that lazy because I had a Death is Eternal to write. What can I do? The good thing is that the panic disappeared when I started to write, and now the creativity is flowing. So, let’s get this thing started.
Contents
The Price of Leverage
Changes: Reverting
Death is Eternal
Bye!
Life (from March 18 to 31, 2024)
Death is Eternal review #269: Impulse by William Messner-Loebs, Craig Rousseau, and others
The end
1. The Price of Leverage
In the quiet room, John’s voice resonated, a whisper carried by the weight of his own contemplation. “What do you say when your life is over?” he murmured, his words trailing into the stillness. His gaze wandered, seeking solace in the shadows as if hoping for an answer to materialize from the darkness itself.
Alan, his counterpart in this nocturnal exchange, offered a gentle rebuttal, his tone a measured counterpoint to John’s melancholy. “It’s not necessarily over,” he ventured, his voice a soft ripple in the otherwise silent air. “You’ll have a second chance someday.”
John’s lips curled, a bittersweet smile dancing upon them as he shook his head in disbelief. “I’m too old and aware to believe in second chances,” he countered, his words carrying the weight of resignation born from a lifetime of dashed hopes.
“They’re real,” Alan insisted, his voice unwavering in its conviction.
A mirthless laugh escaped John’s lips, mingling with the shadows that enveloped them. “Oh, I don’t doubt they’re real,” he conceded, his gaze fixing on Alan with a piercing intensity. “Just not for me.” There was a bitter edge to his laughter, a jagged shard of regret that cut through the stillness like a knife. “Funnily enough, if you hadn’t caught me now, I’d have a chance at a second chance in the future.”
Curiosity flickered in Alan’s eyes, a fleeting spark amidst the shadows. “Why’s that?” he inquired, his interest piqued by John’s cryptic words.
A wistful smile ghosted across John’s features, a fleeting glimpse of a past he could never reclaim. “You really don’t know?” he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. “If I pulled this job, I’d be a billionaire. You know that better than I do. Hell, you probably know exactly how much money I would’ve stolen, something neither I know for sure...”
Alan’s brow furrowed in confusion, his curiosity piqued by John’s enigmatic statement. “Your point?” he pressed, his patience waning with each passing moment.
John leaned back, his gaze drifting towards the ceiling as if seeking answers in the unyielding expanse above. “Second chances, as with everything else in the world, are connected to how much money you have,” he declared, his voice tinged with a bitter cynicism. “The more money, the more chances. It doesn’t matter what you did; with enough money, all you have to do is lay low and read society. One day, sooner or later, it’ll be safe to emerge, ask for forgiveness, and live your life as if nothing happened.”
Alan’s silence spoke volumes, his thoughts a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He struggled to reconcile John’s words with his own deeply held beliefs, grappling with the uncomfortable truth they carried.
As the weight of their silence settled upon them, John broke the tension with a resigned sigh. “Now what?” he asked, his voice a weary echo in the darkness.
“You tell me why,” Alan replied, his voice a solemn whisper.
A flicker of defiance danced in John’s eyes, a silent challenge to the forces that bound them. “Do I have to have a reason?” he countered, his words laced with defiance.
“We never do things without one,” Alan reminded him, his voice a steady anchor amidst the storm of uncertainty.
“I’ll tell you, but first, you tell me, why do you do what you do?” John pressed, his gaze unwavering as he sought to unravel the mysteries that lay hidden beneath Alan’s stoic facade.
A knowing smile touched Alan’s lips, a fleeting glimpse of the truth he dared not speak aloud. “I could tell you that I do what I do because it’s the right thing to do or because I want to help make the world a better and safer place,” he began, his words measured and deliberate. “Or even because I have a deep desire to be a hero.” He paused, his eyes meeting John’s with a clarity that cut through the darkness like a beacon of truth. “But maybe the wanting to feel like a hero isn’t all that noble,” he confessed, his voice tinged with a vulnerability that took John by surprise. “Regardless, all those reasons would be nobler than the truth.”
John’s mask of defiance faltered, his facade crumbling beneath the weight of Alan’s revelation. For the first time in their clandestine dance, he saw Alan not as an adversary but as a mirror reflecting his own fractured soul.
“And what is the truth?” John whispered. His voice barely a breath amidst the silence.
“I’m addicted,” Alan’s countenance shifted imperceptibly, a subtle metamorphosis from the facade of impassivity to the raw visage of humanity. At that moment, John glimpsed the true depth of his adversary, a revelation that sent a shiver down his spine. For years, they had danced this delicate waltz of predator and prey, each step a calculated move in the intricate game they played. John had always perceived Alan as an embodiment of unwavering righteousness, a stalwart guardian of virtue in a world plagued by darkness. He had believed Alan to be incorruptible, an immutable force for good driven not by the allure of acclaim but by an unwavering sense of duty. Yet now, as he beheld the vulnerability etched upon Alan’s features, John was gripped by a newfound fear—a fear born not of his adversary’s strength but of the unsettling realization that beneath the mask of righteousness lay a labyrinth of complexities and contradictions. “I’m addicted to uncovering whys, to knowing why people do what they do. I do what I do because I need to know, I need to understand.”
But amidst the tendrils of fear that coiled around his heart, John sensed a glimmer of hope—a slender thread of opportunity woven into the fabric of their precarious alliance.
“Do you know what’s fascinating about addicts?” John’s voice cut through the silence like a dagger, a sharp retort that brooked no argument. He spared Alan no respite, no opportunity to interject, for he knew that in silence lay the power to shape their fate. “If you deny them their fix, they will stop at nothing to obtain it. And therein lies a valuable currency: leverage.”
A knowing smile graced their lips in unison, a silent acknowledgment of the game they played—a game fuelled not by the desire for victory but by the intoxicating thrill of the chase. Alan’s smile spoke of a passion ignited by the pursuit of truth, a hunger for understanding that transcended the boundaries of morality. And in that shared moment of revelation, John found solace—a glimmer of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.
For in the tangled web of their destinies, John saw not the end of his journey but the beginning of a new chapter—one defined not by the shadows of the past but by the promise of a life that wasn’t over.
The end
2. Changes: Reverting
Last week, I mentioned bringing some changes to this section. The idea was motivated by money. And although money is fundamental, it’s not everything. Also, after some reflection, I concluded that money shouldn’t be the fuel of creative endeavours when you’re (like I’m not) a professional artist. If I need to create art to pay the bills, then letting money dictate what I do is okay. But that’s not my case, (un)fortunately. All this is to say that next week, the “Writing” section will return and will not be behind the paywall. Although it’s been only a week, working in a nonprofit is already making me a better person—or, at least, one more connected with people than money.
3. Death is Eternal
I almost forgot to celebrate a very important date: Death is Eternal anniversary!
Next Thursday (Mar. 28, 2024), Death is Eternal turns eight! Yeah, that’s right. It will take only two more years, and I’ll have been writing the newsletter for almost a decade! That’s nearly unbelievable. Can you imagine keeping a writing project alive for this long? I was going to say I couldn’t imagine that would happen, but to be fair, given how I work and how much I love to write and routine, I probably thought I would reach that mark. I probably even thought I’d have millions of readers and be a published author at this point. Well, I got one of the things right, kind of.
Be as it may, eight years are a lot of years! The only thing I regret is having stopped writing it for a brief period of time—while I was settling in Canada. It was a matter of six months, give or take, but still, I wish I’d found the strength to write because I like doing it, and I’d love to have surpassed the 400 newsletters already. But life is life, and we have to adapt.
Anyway...
Happy anniversary, Death is Eternal!
4. Bye!
Here’s where we say our farewell to the free subscribers. If you want to read the rest of Death is Eternal, consider becoming a paying subscriber. If you already are a paying subscriber, first of all, thank you very, very much! And second, I’ll see you on the other side of the paywall.
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