[ WP ] you were given the choice of immortality , and you took it . Now , millions of years later , you are floating in space . Alone with your thoughts .

Long ago I forgot how I got here or how I came to survive in this vacuous space, so vast and empty and cold and scorching yet leaving no mark on my skin or permanent scar though I assure you the pain is still there, it is so hard to ignore the pain produced by suffocation and irradiation and any other countless litany of mortal causes of death which somehow can not kill me - why can none of this kill me? - do I imagine this pain or this situation when I am actually hovering helplessly and senselessly generating my own contrived sensations, imagined pinpricks and burns from absent sources - finally gone mad - such that I can not trust what I feel, just as I can not trust my eyes or ears or hands or feet or tongue - all senses atrophied and all hope withered along with this old broken body, seemingly ordinary. 
 
 I get flashes sometimes. Thoughts staccato in fragments of sights and feelings and sounds and sights I once perhaps be held but more likely imagined. They come in bursts, triggered by something I can not know what. Scribbled chickenscratch on notebooks, haphazard notes on the occult and physics and any other medley of topics under the great underlined topic of Immortality. I watch like a spectator to my own memory, I must have been obsessed with living forever - look where that got me: in some cellular prison - alien to these older thoughts as more flashes, vignettes pop into this mind's eye ( is there a difference between my imagined theater and actual reality, I know not ) fast forward like some ancient tape. Discovery, post some fantastical terrible deed that cursed me. Blood on my hands. Circles all around me. Life. Solitary confinement for years - ironic. Confusion. Exploitation. Blurred life. Encasement, Oracle to Humanity. False AI. Years. Years and years. Circles reappear in my eyes. Blood flows in these veins. Freedom. Escape. Longing. Homesick. 
 
 
 Is this my life? Did I once imagine this? How.. Disappointing. I was inconsequential. Everything is, anyway, in the end. 
 
 
 This is the end, I remember. 
 
 I see no more lights, no more energy comes to me. 
 
 The burning stays as flesh struggles, but everything else is cold. I am curled, fetal, solidified by eons. I may last for all time, but all time ends. 
 
 All time is ending. 
 
 It's cold now, and all time is fading. No energy flows, the blood within me stagnant now. It all ceases - third law of thermodynamics: the entropy of a perfect crystal at absolute zero is exactly equal to zero - applies for the universe, for life too. 
 
 It's cold, and everything is slowing. Nothing moves. I force something to happen and all I feel is warmth in my eyes. Saltwater flowing freely. Ice. 
 
 It ’ s cold now, I'm cold. My skin liquidates, my whole body imperceptibly distinct from this space, as if I were floating in nothingness. 
 
 It's gone now. I'm gone. I'm happy.
