I plead to every God who exists that today will be the day true justice reigns supreme from my own ambition to recover my virtue which I have lost because of my own grave mistakes. As I sit within this courtroom I know nothing will ever be the same again, and I fear the poor man seated with such diligence who reminds me of the man I used to be fills me with an unholy abundance of sorrow for what I have become will be found guilty of a crime he did not commit. My own trembling body refuses to look away from the man with the most pitiful stare I have ever witnessed. I can sense the aura of wrath my peers on this jury feel towards the suspect, and the anguish that lacerates their impartial hearts of what they believe he did. Oh, if only they knew of the criminal who had truly committed the terrible murder, then I would not be in this unforgetablly dire situation. I am incredibly alone, I am not like any human who sits within these walls built by men. It is not him who killed that man, it is I. Oh, the almighty Gods! I beg you to give me the strength to overcome this atrocity of a creature I have become. Why can’t I simply stand up and object against the jury? Why can’t I tell them of the truth they deserve to hear? Am I truly a vile monster who wishes it could get away with the horrible crime? I close my eyes and look towards the floor. I cannot bear the pain. The tears which I try to hold back suddenly pour out. A dear human supports me by gently rubbing my back. It was Luna, oh dear Luna! Do not care for such a filthy being, it is not the tears of innocence that leak! I cannot smile at her, her lips move but I hear no sound. My dear Luna must have been saying something comforting, but I could not hear her. My mind was too focused on my guilt and my body was breaking down. Luna, move away, do not touch my tainted skin. It once held the blood of the man you mourn over. Do not comfort the beast you wish to destroy. Do not trust me, and for the love of God, please see through me. I can feel the storm approaching, the judge is about to reveal his verdict.

“I find the suspect to be—”

I do not care for the answer to be spoken, and a sudden urge to act bestows upon me. “Innocent!” I yell as I jolt up.

Every head turns to look in my direction. Luna whispers my name in concern.

“That man is innocent,” I point. “He is innocent and I know of the real criminal.”

Not a word was spoken by another man, not a single sigh.

Here I stand and face my future. “Because,” I say. I know what is right and what must be done, yet why is it so difficult? “Because,” I repeat, “it is I.” As soon as I uttered those words, I heard a gasp and the courtroom filled with confusion. “I,” I pause. “I am the murderer.”

“What are you saying?” the judge demands.

“I am the murderer, I am the criminal who you seek.”

“It can’t be,” says Luna.

“It is,” I say, “I’m sorry.”

“You were at the hospital during the night of the murder,” says one.

“Yes, because I was struck by lightning.”

“This man admitted to the murder and we have a stack of evidence to support that he is the one in question,” says another.

“That evidence must point to me, it must be layered with ambiguity to point towards that innocent man.”

“It is impossible. How can you be in two places at once?”

“I was not. I took up the responsibility to aid the man who came covered in blood. I should have declined, I should have rested, yet I took on a task I could not complete successfully.”

“Doctor, it was your duty to help the man, not save him.”

“You don’t understand. I did not help him, on his chest was taped a message which read: ‘doctor, do not aid.’ He was a frail old man.”

“You cannot help someone unwillingly, it is not your fault. This man refused to call for help when he knew the old gentleman to be in danger because of his actions!”

“No, you do not understand. How was I so sure the message was written by the old man? How was I so sure he wished to die?”

“Doctor, the message was confirmed to be written by the deceased. We sent it to five different handwriting experts who all agreed it to be written by the dead.”

No, it is not right. Something has changed me, after that bolt struck me. “It was not right of me to get back to duty after only a day of recovery.”

“It is not your fault,” the jury assured.

Oh, how I wish I could believe them. That pitiful stare the suspect showed now stares towards me. My God, is this what I must have looked like to the gray man before I chose to do what I did? The forgotten obituaries screamed of an unknown force so inclined to be death yet seemed so far away from it, and now I believe I know of the horrors they wished to convey. A cut straight through the artery led to an enormous amount of blood to clog and for the patient to succumb to his inflictions. A place between good and evil. A place between justice and corruption. A place between life and death. A place of relief and uncertainty. I’m sure justice will be served today, although I'm not sure what will happen to me. But, do I really care? I curse the foul thing I have become. “My dear God!” I yell. There laid across the wall the shadow of the monster I saw before! In a quick glimpse of the illumination the lightning provided I saw the beast. Its sharp claws, or maybe it was its teeth. The round silhouette which turned into a chaos of jagged sharp edges. A long boned wing with the hide of pure black reached towards me, but this time it was I who was reaching towards the man with the pitiful stare. Take it back! Take it back! No, please, move away! The figures went on, flapping their lips away. They were conversing with one another. I swear it was I who committed the atrocity. In a swift act of granting a prayer, I played with the insides of the man with a disturbing amount of aspiration. I remember how I paused when I saw scarlet stains stuck upon my palms which held the blade. I leapt over the guard and threw myself towards the man, but before I could reach him the security got ahold of me. I yelled, screamed, and wept. The pain was unbearable. The saturated white halls oozed with a glittering red as the sliding tomb was followed by a constant ringing. I didn’t say anything that could be made out as words. My spit wet my left cheek as my head laid flat on the floor with the giants lying across my spine. The bright windows caused my left eye to be burnt yet I kept it open. Half my face was illuminated by the sun and I stared straight into it because I knew it to be God punishing me for my sins. Not long after, the blood rushing to my head caused me to lose consciousness, but the thought echoing in my mind told me of the destiny I sought.

I have set to accomplish what the remainder of my heart aches to finish. If the court will not accompany me to my death, then from the soaring heights of my apartment: I’ll go alone.

In one hour our life will cease existence from our universe. A cluster of galaxies is called a supercluster. A cluster of superclusters is called a universe. A cluster of universes is called a multiverse. A cluster of multiverses is called—a simulation?

It’s eight-o-clock, I’m sorry to report this, but: the Inkinga has been struck with a devastating force. Our worst fear may be true. I’m sure all of us are thinking to ourselves, “I wish the Inkinga never existed.” It’s funny how that’s the first thought to manifest in our minds, and not that vacuum decay never existed. Such a wonderful machine the Inkinga is, and such horror would destroy it. Why are we upset? The entire purpose of the Inkinga was to be destroyed so it could alert us. Well, I assume we never thought of what to do after it fulfilled its purpose. Ha, it feels like the Inkinga was the final duty of our kind. With it completed, we have no more purpose. An utterly simple trick to have a gigantic lever that reaches past our solar system to be flipped, and which the distance of that transformation to be shorter than the length, and which has a radio at the end of that length, and which sends out a signal to alert our world of our fate, and which will only be possible because the length of the Inkinga was one light-hour while the transformation was one-second. Now what of us? Do we wait around for us to be devoured? Oh, what could possibly await us on the other side? We have pondered on our morality countless times, but have we ever wondered how we would go without a funeral? That there would be none to commemorate our disappearance. The voices from the sky call upon the confirmation of our fate. Soon, we will all, in fact, perish. Oh, my. The obituairies are being littered with names. All our names. Where is it? Where is it written? Where’s my name?

Numerian Funk’d 4918-5024

It feels uncanny. My name stands out from all of us. My name on the obituary. What organism would need to witness their own death to be carved into the walls? They’re fluttering in, thousands by thousands pour in and fill the infinite wall. I’m not sure what I’ll do. Maybe, I’ll listen to my favorite tune to kill the time. And then in a moment, along with me, all will be gone. Actually, forget that. I think I’ll just lie down here and rest for a while. The clock ticks to eight-thirty-two. Ah, this feels odd. I can’t seem to find it comfortable, something is off. Ah, of course something is off, it’s that inevitable invisible terror that’s headed our way. Maybe with a little more time we would be able to solve the mystery of vacuum decay. Ah, but now I’m only bargaining. I guess, in the end, death treats us all equally. At least, there won’t be any pain for us.

Let us take in the world for what it is this one last time. As the door slides open to the front yard, we see a family playing sports. So blissful that a spontaneous urge to weep emerges within us. “What a beautiful sight!” we think. In cascades, the reminder recalls our attachment to life. Oh, how we wish it were easy to let go of, and how we thought we had already.

A sight that you’ve seen a trillion times and now it is as new as ever. The leaves from the trees fall slowly to the ground. Far slower than you ever noticed. Your palm freezes as you grip the railing and the steps sink. Was everything always so colorful?

The marvelous creatures. Their libedo is out of control. They cannot help but stare at each other. They slowly approach them. What is this? Infatuation. They hesitate. What did they just say? Ah, fucking idiots. A lifetime of experience and they yet don’t know how to ensue intercourse. One look into their eyes, and they step closer. Not for a single moment did they believe they would have understood each other from a glance if it weren’t for this dire circumstance. They passionately express their love as their bodies grow closer and warmer.

Such odd of us. Even in the time of despair, we are concerned about our privacy. We tightly grip each other as we make it home and burst open the door to lie flat on the cushions. We did not think for a single moment that we so easily gave away our dignity for this beauty but fought against giving it to the public. Then, in an instant, our bodies were stripped naked and connected with one another.

The reds in its cheeks grow frivolous with each passing moment. The time is nine-o-clock. And it’s not stopping. Everything is pristine with maroon. Its face oozes with a luscious scent, which took in causing the epithelium to explode and sense all the scents which ever existed or can exist.

Don’t you find it funny? Species have a tendency to procreate when they sense impending doom. Like us, now.

Nine-o-clock, still, it’s time. An hour, a century, a millennium, an eternity must have passed, yet it’s nine-o-clock. You should be dead by now…