I think out loud. It helps me extrapolate my thoughts and can lead to good conversation. Often I record myself and play it back. It’s important to know how I sound and even though I’ve read it’s a symptom of loneliness I contest that I don’t feel lonely; what differentiates this from improv comics or actors formulating a grand performance? I will contest that a soliloquy is not a sign of mental illness. Although, I try to down play it when outside my home ever-fearful that a random person lurks in a corner. Even in the dead of night with no one present there is that awkward moment where you randomly bump into someone who now listens in on your conversation and it can be presumed that their mission in life is to lie in wait to create a certain kind of discomfort.
That discomfort all went away when I met the Savior and he told me those things I needed to hear. And after years of following him –while meeting new brothers and sisters- I agreed to be the one left behind to spread the word.
They are with them, clasped from arm to arm, united in a final journey. I am their documentarian and confidant. Given the most important task: spread the word. My camera captures every possible moment. The Savior gestures, their people always near to them wishing to be called upon. A small dedicated group of a dozen. Finding one another in their emptiness. The word is sound and the Savior espouses this in a calm and reassuring manner such as a nun at your bedside: we must thin out the masses. There is too much life. There is too much confusion. There are too many consumers. There are too few producers. And even fewer producers who matter. The way to live is to never be. Step aside and let live only the most precious life. I capture this final sermon, live-streamed to over 100K devices, and watch as my family leaves beholding me to this great task. A final task to summon the end times.
A grinning deity requesting this event rubs their hands together cartoonishly in anticipation. I have been assured that what we are doing is on behalf of the winning side who will come.
The Savior speaks “You will never again feel loneliness. Replace it with nothingness.” I pan across with my camera to the tools to complete their predestination: a row of homemade guillotines with a rope for each one with which to make the blades drop. They say their goodbyes to each other in a hug. Giving a last testimonial to the camera where they do not mention their previous families. The Savior assures them that having this moment recorded makes this a transformative action, their suicide will serve a purpose, theirs will be among the first to fall like a river breaking through a dam.
They ready up, necks locked in place, immaculate steel blades poised, in the corner of the instruments is the expression “Made in China.” They look into the camera and smile, the view count slowly lowers, and the string is pulled. A row of heads spins across the laminate floor. I suspect the heads can still see and feel in their final seconds but fail to capture that moment of posthumous nirvana.
I have nothing else and, at this moment, I feel full and content being privileged to see something so profound. I lower the camera to the floor of ever-expanding blood so it may only see my lower torso. I step towards the bodies seeing no movement and no fluttering eyes. I walk to each one and hug it knowing I am the recorder of a new Bible.