Penumbrae: The origin

Why are stories written? Right now, I can recall three reasons; 1) for fame, 2) for the future generations to learn from our mistakes, 3) and for When you are about to die. Honestly speaking I don’t really care about being famous or about the future generations, but I do care about the fact that I am about to die.   If you ask me what is the worst part about my situation, what I hate the most right now? Its probably the fact that I still don’t know who I am. Yes, death is probably lurking in the shadows waiting to sweep me up and toss me to hell, or whatever hell is for people like me but that’s not what scares me completely. It does but not completely. I mean who isn’t petrified of seeing a robed creature holding a scythe? Especially when you know you haven’t done a single good deed to be blessed to put your feet in heaven and be blissful. I on the other hand don’t like the fact that all my sacrifices, sweat, tears and specially blood; all went to vain. It’s like when you build a card tower and you rush to get your phone to capture how you spent ages to make it and your stupid cat just smashes the tower for fun. Did you feel your heart shattering when your cat destroyed your tower? I bet you did. Right now, my heart is also shattered because of my cat. Not exactly my cat, I don’t own a cat but the old lady who smash my card tower. Not exactly the card tower because I don’t have cards on me right now. Shut up, It’s just an analogy!   I wonder what the bystanders would be thinking watching everything unfold in front if their eyes? All they would be seeing is a malnourished young-adult that looks like a 15 years old with pale and clammy skin scream every few minutes. I wonder if they could see the grimace on my face. They could see that I was in somewhat pain, but they of course couldn’t know or feel what I was feeling. What was I feeling you ask? I felt the searing fiery burst pulsating around my wounds, intensifying with every breath I took. I don’t know where the blood was oozing from or which muscle would hurt if I moved in a certain way. The pain throbbed in my gut and I could feel that it’s deep and icy cold. It felt like someone have their frozen hand in there and are squeezing my organs as hard as possible and then just yanking their hand out by ripping my abdomen open.   I have heard that after certain limit of pain all you will feel is numb and adrenaline rushes throughout your body so you can fight or defend yourself but I can assure you that numbness and adrenaline is probably not in my body’s dictionary.   Now you must be wondering how I got here. How did I end up feeling such intense pain that I am actually praying for death to toss me to hell rather than finding out who I am, which was the only thing that mattered few weeks ago? Let me begin from the start then.   Last week of 3rd semester in university. Oh and also the curse.