“That's very nice of you to say,” he replies, his voice low and rough, “but you want to talk about beliefs. I want to talk about facts. I know my life doesn't have purpose. It never did! Why would it if it just lead to here?”
His voice, it should be noted, is no longer low.
“I'm sick of people telling me I have a purpose! That I have a mission! And don't tell me what it is! If I have a purpose then tell me right now or leave me alone! I'm done! I'm tired of it! I'm...”
And without warning, without hesitation, he closes his eyes, covers them with his fists—and finally lets out the cries he's been holding back ever since he woke up. And in between his gasps, in between his sobs, he mutters something. Something in Spanish.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2010-05-15 01:45 am (UTC)His voice, it should be noted, is no longer low.
“I'm sick of people telling me I have a purpose! That I have a mission! And don't tell me what it is! If I have a purpose then tell me right now or leave me alone! I'm done! I'm tired of it! I'm...”
And without warning, without hesitation, he closes his eyes, covers them with his fists—and finally lets out the cries he's been holding back ever since he woke up. And in between his gasps, in between his sobs, he mutters something. Something in Spanish.
Something that means “I just want to die.”