Cigarettes to Doomsday

Wei An x Li Muchen

Today was the day everything would end. 

My door shut with a little click behind me. I locked the handle and the higher slide in one motion. I threw my shoes to the side as I stepped forward. Excitement rose within me.

I checked my calendar. Each day was marked off with an 'X', but the months following were torn out. Today was the day. After months of research, today was the day. I rubbed the bumpy, pale-scarred tissue running up and down my forearms.

My eyes narrowed as my backpack squirmed–or rather, what was inside, squirmed. I pulled it off my shoulders as I stepped into my living room, where the altar was set up. Mahogany darkened to almost black once I began to light the candles. A blackish-purple cloth cascaded down the towering structure of the rectangular altar. At the bottom level, gold-chalked runes spilled over to the ground and out to the entire floor.

The curtains were pulled taut. The sky disappeared behind thick cloth—a barrier between me and the outside world. I rub the lid of my lighter in my pocket. The cool metal weighed heavy against my fingertips before pulling it out. A little flame jumped out.

The craving for nicotine crept into my throat like ants crawling atop skin, but I ignored it.

I ignited the candles scattered tastefully throughout the room, coloring the darkness in a dim orange glow. My shadow jumped high and low with the flickering candlelight.

A dry laugh bubbled from my throat as I stepped back, soaking in the full view. An ominous altar, within a room covered floorboard to floorboard in scrawled marks. If anyone stepped into what used to be a dingy apartment, they'd call 911 on the spot, and arrest the man who, to them, had gone insane with delusion.

But there's one thing wrong with that scenario. To outsiders, I may seem crazy.

But I only believe in absolute, infallible truths.

Anything less was a lie.

The repeated hopeful line–this world was redeemable and humans within it were capable of change—was incorrect. It was never true to begin with. I knew that with my own eyes.

The only truth I know as if now—was that thing was real. That being; the unfathomable presence pricked my skin with Its observation; the melting and mixing of darkness and shadows watching me as I slowly leaned out against the rooftop edge.

Only by walking along the line of death itself, did I become aware of Its existence. And if I conferred with any other, they'd perhaps not even indulge in what they call "insanity". But I'm not insane—after all, I only believed in absolute, infallible truths. And the truth of this existence was clearer than the night sky empty of clouds and stars.

It's funny—I laughed aloud to myself again, this time, reaching nimbly into the backpack.

All those years ago, I thought this world had nothing to offer me. And now, only through what I call revelation, and they call "insanity", did I have something to live for.

"To live in order to die, I suppose."

To die, and to reveal to the world an absolute, infallible truth that cannot be questioned.

The snake in my hand glares at me, sharp fangs outstretched and gaping throat open as it lashed its body around like a whip. It can't move; my hand choked its head.

I grabbed beneath the snake's mouth and pinched it tight, preventing the snake from biting or twisting out of my grasp. With my other hand, I pulled the torso tight and prevented the snake from constricting my arm—a resulting lesson from the countless, deep bruises looped around my arms.