On Death

The Master had found me awaiting my death. 

After I had witnessed him squeezing the sun I fled, seeking somewhere, anywhere, to hide from the terrible truth of his power, from the awful façade that I had once believed was reality. In my flight I had delved into the heart of the earth, into ever-narrower tunnels, until I had lodged myself into the tightest fissure I could find, far below the world, where the sun could not reach me. Maddened with fear, I sought nothing more than to disappear, eschewing even base self preservation. For weeks I sat in the dark unmoving, my once powerful body transformed into a desiccated wreck by thirst and cold. Death would come for me soon, or so I hoped. 

The Master had found me first.

He had sauntered into my stone tomb with a nonchalance of a man on a light evening’s constitutional. He brought no light with him yet I could see him perfectly, as if it was my mind seeing him rather than my eyes. As he sat next to my fissure I tried to get away from him, but my strength had abandoned me. I could do nothing but weakly wriggle as the Master rummaged in his rucksack and brought out a loaf of coarse bread and an ancient-looking sausage. As he chewed the sausage emitted a stench the likes of which I had never experienced. I would have hurled if my stomach wasn’t so empty. 

“So,” said the Master, perfectly comfortable, “this is where you’ve run off to. I didn't figure you were such a coward. A fool, yes, but you had sought me twice. Cowards rarely go past the first time.” 

“Please,” I whispered, my throat parched from thirst, my lips little more than dust, “just let me die. You- what you are, what that means for the world… I cannot stand it. Let me die.” 

“What is death?” asked the Master, ignoring my plea. 

I dared not answer, for I knew where my previous questions had led me. Yet the Master nodded, as if I had said something. “Death is to forget the world. To die is to forget that you had once had power over it, and it over you. To die is to truly be alone, for the first and last time.”   

“That sounds…” 

“Wonderful?” he asked, and I was not sure if that's what I would’ve said, “Perhaps.”

We sat there in the darkness, him chewing, me dying. Then-

“You know, what I do to the world, it’s not really anything special. Once you remember where the strings are, to let the world unravel is the easiest thing. Anyone could do it. Even you.” 

Could I? The idea seemed absurd. Yet the Master seemed entirely sincere. 

“So choose - will you be forgotten by the world, or will you learn to remember what it truly is?” 

I considered his words. For eons. Then, I reached my hand towards him. He grasped it.

“Come then, my Disciple.”