I am tired, and I desire death above all things.

This line, etched neatly into the frail parchment, began what looked like a fairly long document. The edges of the aging paper were cracked and fragile looking, but even more fragile looking was the ink. It held its deep black color, but it was dry and looked strangely coagulated in the small crevices of the paper. When my hand shook violently against the surprisingly cool breezes that happened through this vast room, parts of the ink, disturbed by the crinkling of its surface, crumbled away, revealing a deep red stain that remained to anchor the ancient words to the parchment

Living as I have, one becomes exhausted over time. The mind begins to rot far before the body, and the desire to continue existing tends to crumble. All of this information comprised solely of my own observations, experiences and opinions, of course, but I believe I am somewhat of an expert on living over time. So much so that I have also as a result become fairly well acquainted with coveting death and all those whom it claims at their appropriate time. At many times throughout my life, as some may call it, I have attempted to die. At each respective time my mind had sufficiently decayed to a frantic search for any means to end my suffering, so I quite obviously began committing various types of suicidal actions. To my horror, each attempt failed miserably. The only success that may have come from these actions would have to be my recovered sanity. My mind was able to pull itself together long enough to search out another means of death. After many years of these futile attempts, I began to think my difficultly was just a lack of competency within myself, so I began setting up rather beautiful and complete, fail-proof events that would lead to my murder. Even these failed. Some to a miscalculation of my own, or they unraveled at the frailties and flaws in the humans involved. Either way, after time I again became desperate. This time I finally settled on the one thing that was sure not to fail. Starvation. Nothing can live without nourishment. Instead of death, however, I discovered even more complete torment. A being can only balance on the edge between hell and death for so long before their resolve crumbles. With thorough experimentation, I found that my resolve lasts about 75 years. Seventy-five years of incomprehensible pain, and yet I would not die. Finally I just gave up my futile attempts at death, and continued living my life as I had before the Desire had crept into my cursed flesh.

And this is where my existence has led me. I have finally found the means to destroy my essence and end this pitiful existence. With this piece of mind, I am able to sit here scribing my life into this parchment as a warning, a story, and as proof, that I did, in fact, exist when no one believed it possible.

My story is long, yet it is not the oldest. There were others before me, and there are still others that will continue after me. I was not who I am now from birth, and yet I have not changed. I do not kill and I do not curse, and even though I was born into heaven, I am chained to Satan.