| Chapter Nine |
He was asleep. Or dead. Of the two he was not quite certain which.
Babylon could not see. He could barely hear. His current state of being was unlike any he had known while awake and
alert. Surely then, sleep. But he could still feel. He could smell and taste. He was fully self-aware within his mind, he could
reason and hypothesize. This could not be a dream. Perhaps death, then?
What was death, exactly? Was it pain? Was it anguish? Was it being wet and sick and paralyzed? Was it hunger and
exhaustion? Perhaps it was the simple inability to alter your own pathetic state of being. Or else it was the fear that if you
were to surrender your self-awareness you would never recapture it. More probably that oblivion itself was properly death
and Babylon was simply on the edge of death.
The edge of death, what could one call that? Agony? Despair? Apathy? The young cub could identify with these
concepts, at least. His permanent conscious memories began a week ago. The first one was the death of his father,
Babylon, whom he was named after. He was Babylon II.
His mother, Minji, had cared for him for five days, after which she was attacked by humans and dragged off, her
unmoving carcass offering no resistance beyond that of deadweight to the poachers. Babylon had collapsed in the mud
puddle left by the humans’ vehicle and wished for death. He had attempted to simply will his spirit to unbind from his body
and fly away from this hell of a life. No, not a life. Simply an existence. To liken his experience unto ‘life’ seemed a
discredit to the word itself.
He had lain in this puddle, unmoving, for days. He had neither eaten nor drank water. Sleep was chaos itself, offering no
rest, only nightmares. Had he known he would have to wait until he starved to death he might have invested some
energy in finding a faster alternative. The rainy days, the cold nights and the lack of food had made him sick, perhaps
that would end it for him sooner. His stillness and exhaustion had made him too stiff to move, that would keep him from
being tempted to try and survive.
What awaited him on the other side of death? Release? Sweet oblivion? Or only an even deeper level of hell than what
he had thus far experienced? Suddenly a very frightening thought occurred to Babylon. Perhaps this was hell. Perhaps
hell was eternally wishing to just die already, with no release.
Babylon could not see. He could barely hear. His current state of being was unlike any he had known while awake and
alert. Surely then, sleep. But he could still feel. He could smell and taste. He was fully self-aware within his mind, he could
reason and hypothesize. This could not be a dream. Perhaps death, then?
What was death, exactly? Was it pain? Was it anguish? Was it being wet and sick and paralyzed? Was it hunger and
exhaustion? Perhaps it was the simple inability to alter your own pathetic state of being. Or else it was the fear that if you
were to surrender your self-awareness you would never recapture it. More probably that oblivion itself was properly death
and Babylon was simply on the edge of death.
The edge of death, what could one call that? Agony? Despair? Apathy? The young cub could identify with these
concepts, at least. His permanent conscious memories began a week ago. The first one was the death of his father,
Babylon, whom he was named after. He was Babylon II.
His mother, Minji, had cared for him for five days, after which she was attacked by humans and dragged off, her
unmoving carcass offering no resistance beyond that of deadweight to the poachers. Babylon had collapsed in the mud
puddle left by the humans’ vehicle and wished for death. He had attempted to simply will his spirit to unbind from his body
and fly away from this hell of a life. No, not a life. Simply an existence. To liken his experience unto ‘life’ seemed a
discredit to the word itself.
He had lain in this puddle, unmoving, for days. He had neither eaten nor drank water. Sleep was chaos itself, offering no
rest, only nightmares. Had he known he would have to wait until he starved to death he might have invested some
energy in finding a faster alternative. The rainy days, the cold nights and the lack of food had made him sick, perhaps
that would end it for him sooner. His stillness and exhaustion had made him too stiff to move, that would keep him from
being tempted to try and survive.
What awaited him on the other side of death? Release? Sweet oblivion? Or only an even deeper level of hell than what
he had thus far experienced? Suddenly a very frightening thought occurred to Babylon. Perhaps this was hell. Perhaps
hell was eternally wishing to just die already, with no release.
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