KC: hey, um… this is probably an essay of sorts…I wrote it in US history, and these are things I’ve been asking myself…well, don’t flame or nuthin’, I just needed to get this down on paper…

Cassiope: hurry up already! I wanna see what you’ve been asking yourself lately!

KC: okay. Here we go, my questions of life, vol. 1

QUESTIONS OF LIFE, VOLUME 1

            Death. What is Death? Is Death something to be feared, and hated, or something to accept and embrace? Is Death portrayed as a humanoid sprite, or a bestial apparition? Is Death a flower, tree or other plant? No living mortal knows what Death is like, not yet. Is Death painful? Does It feel like your soul is being ripped out of your body? Or does it feel like slipping into a deep sleep, or unconsciousness? Do you travel down a dark tunnel, or ride upon a boat of clouds? I have always wondered, would bleeding to death feel like you are being poured through a sieve? Or is it like the way you feel when you exhale? I don’t know. I wish I knew. Still, I think life is the journey, and Death the destination. Perhaps Death is the beginning of the end. Or the end of the beginning, of an old page in an old chapter, in an old story. Maybe Death isn’t Death at all, but the cover up of the smooth transition into another story line. Maybe, Death is a door, a decision to be made: choose Death, rest forever; choose to walk away, be reborn or wander as a ghost for all eternity. Life is full of Choices. Maybe Death is too. Perhaps Death is a deep sleep, and when you wake from it, and remember snatches of your past life, you say to yourself, “Oh, it was just a dream. Something my heart and mind wishes were true.” No one knows what death is like. Is the path to Death silent, and white, or Dark, and echoing with screams, both from others and ripped from your own throat? Perhaps. You won’t know ‘till you die.

Cassiope: 0_0* uh….

Me: I know. Weird, huh?

Cassiope: I knew you were off yer rocker, but this far off? Damn, that is so weird…

Me: yeah. Well, people, review, tell me I’m crazy, or right, or weird, or just plain stupid. I don’t care. But please, review. Oh, and read my other stuff. They’re cool.

Cassiope: at least to you and me they’re cool.

Me: Yeah.