Tw: Death - Blog Posts
Afterlife:~
As the blinking lights turned pale,
And pulse rate slowly failed
to evoke a wave of life,
Her eyelids, remained open under the light;
Her lips, breathed its last,
With her skin and blue veins, fading lifeless, fast.
Her last she could see, her last she could hear,
Great darkness engulfing her,
Her family screaming in tears.
A heavenly peace, taking over her terrestrial body,
Her pain melt away, shes now a dead old lady.
A beam of light, from somewhere afar,
Taking her soul away, glowing brighter and brighter.
She approached close, and the light showed her,
A life she had received,never lived so far.
Before her she sees a child,
Screaming in tears,
"None but her!", hardly she exclaims in joy,
Her heart dropped, looking at the broken toy,
Her favourite one, she held it so dearly,
No toy could surpass, the broken doll's beauty.
Again, being taken aback by the light,
She faces a thirteen year old,
With eyes glowing bright.
She was amazed by her new nose piercing,
She forgot how she scarred herself, silently bleeding.
Soon she was placed before her adult self,
She met a lady in thirtie's,
Disappointed she felt,
As she was too obssesed with a perfect marriage,
She missed her daughter's first walk,at a tender age.
Shifting back, at that deep darknees again,
She sees a mirror, and a wretched reflection starring,
She meets an old lady, filled with regrets,
Regrets of never living a life, that
she was gifted.
All her life she spent on perfections,
Crying over things, out of her
ambitions.
Chasing the unreachable, she never lived the life,
Her mind was clouded with
"If"s and "why"s.
Old lady at reflection,laments her biggest regret,
The unrelished life of discontent, slowly faded.
so can we start hunting down white liberals now or what
OKAYSO
Now I'm in a really good mood. Which means that yes, while this is another ooc post, it ALSO blocks down the ideas I have for Taliyah's lore!
It all started, as you can probably guess, when she was back on the ship. Forced to choose between destroying a village and continue her learning path, or be thrown off the ship and probably die. Instead of dying herself, she chose to destroy the village.
That had started her whole career. Upon returning to her new home, Taliyah began her training. Her powers were strong and incredibly useful(even her lore says so), but unstable. She grew to the woman she is today— a weapon for Noxus' military, being able to help in more ways than one. I apologize for my writing! I haven't slept in almost 24 hours.
Basic Facts
24 years old
Does NOT have aquaphobia nor ptsd(she was not thrown into the harbor)
Born in Shurima, now a citizen of Noxus
Whatever she lacks in smarts is returned in determination and strength
Despite her unapproachable appearance, Taliyah is still kind. She isn't as easy to open up in her main verse, but it's still manageable
I hope I die in 2069 cause that would be a great joke.
Ya know, just like my life.
I'm wishing for either life or death because I am tired of being stuck somewhere in between.
Simply existing.
Imagine if you were forced to go to the funerals of every character you killed and you could see their ghost there. All the wasted years that could've come, all in front of you ripped to shreds by your own hand.
'I walked into the hall. I didn't want to come here nor did I want to stay but I couldn't leave. I was here for him. He died because of me.
His mother stood on the podium giving a speech in her eloquent way that I had made her to be but I could see the life leeched from her eyes. Yet she went on and on about what a great person her son was because she knew that these funerals were for the living.
"Was I not enough," he asked from behind me. His eyes had become hollow to match his heart. His skin was gray and ghoulish and blood poured down from where I stabbed him.
"What did I ever do wrong," tears swept down his cheeks. He had cried when he was alive and then he cried at his own funeral.
I did that to him. Sitting in the pew of a death that I brought of a life that I started. I couldn't stop the tears that flowed out, blinding me in blur of pain and the sound of my own sobbing.
I think I caught the eyes of some of the people there because I was crying like I knew him personally. Truth was no one knew him that well except for two people and one of them was me.
As for the other person...he hadn't even showed up.
I may have attended a funeral so similar that it felt like a fever dream, a funeral of a person I killed. A person I brought misery and nothing more. It never hurt any less.
I'd taken him too soon with too much pain that he didn't deserve.
Will the hollow ache of his soul ever heal?
Will he ever find peace?
I'm afraid to continue his story for the fear that I will only bring more pain.'
"We were gonna be heroes together. And now I'm gonna be a hero for the both of us... I'll make them pay, Ro, I swear it. They're going to pay."
(Click for better quality. Reblogs > Likes)
"I couldn't take it, couldn't stand another minute
Couldn't bear another day without you in it
All of the joy that I had known for all my life
Was stripped away from me the minute that you died
To have you in my life was all I ever wanted
But now without you, I'm a soul forever haunted
Can't help but feel that I had taken you for granted
No way in hell that I can ever comprehend this!"
~
-Red Like Roses, Jeff Williams
Whumptober No.19
...Well then. This was not how she planned to be spending her Tuesday afternoon... Dumb villains getting in the way of her going to the bookstore-
(Click for better quality)
This kid didn’t deserve this, they deserved so much better than this. And people online or in real life who encourage this kind of behavior I personally wish go to hell as someone part of the LGBTQ+ community
I really hope this reaches more people, I'm only reposting this information from Instagram, the least that I can do. (Update: I changed their upbringing as it appears to have been listed wrong) Wiki page
When I just saw this information I couldn't stop crying thinking about it, and now my heart aches. They were the same age as me, I know for a fact like any other teen they dreamt of their future, who they would want to become, what to achieve, create, wondering if they meet those in the future they can call friends, wondeting if it'll get better when they grow up, maybe wished to leave that terrible place or maybe wanted to stay. How could anyone let this happen, why were they discharged from hospital so easily? And the school, we all know why. I hate to think about how, even with all the progress made, these things still happen.
"murdered schoolgirl Brianna Ghey on February 16, 2023. Candlelit vigils are being held across the UK this week for Brianna Ghey, 16, who was stabbed at Linear Park in Culcheth, Cheshire last Saturday. Brianna was a transgender girl and police are now investigating her killing as a hate crime. A boy and girl, both 15, have been charged with her murder"
An article that explains trans hate crime murders as on 2023
I hate everyone who have ever committed such vile hate crimes, I wish them in prison and hell. But i would never go down to their level. But I also blame the government, the school, and even those bigoted online accounts that teach their followers hate. In this case LibsOfTikTok, who targeted the teacher of this school, who supports lgbtq+, so they had to leave their position. It must have been the push for this to happen. I think their tiktok account has been thankfully deleten. But i have no idea about Twitter or any other. Please check and mass report them if it still exists. (Link to Instagram reel that this information is from)
ADDITION, PLEASE MASS REPORT THESE ACCOUNTS
Benjamin meets Mordecai’s family once; when Mordecai made an effort to visit home during his mother’s passing. He and his Aunt Rosie got along the absolute best! Esther is not really a fan of kids so the relationship is cordial but kind. He only knew his grandmother for two days before her death but she was very happy to meet him, even briefly.
TW DEATH , TW MURDER
Mordecai was no longer in the business by this point. But as a final act of his former self, he went out on the eve of his mother’s death and killed his former adversaries that were keeping him from visiting. His worry was, if Benjamin ever sought to visit NY on his own, they might mistake him for Mordecai. Plus, the men seeking revenge on him were now significantly older than when they first encountered each other.
Because of social stigmas at the time, Mordecai essentially lied and said his wife had passed during childbirth.
Here’s an old drawing of Mordecai and Benjamin arriving to New York for the visit!
Do the dead comfort you? Pt.1
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader
Summary: On your night shift at the mortuary you discover a fresh mutilated corpse that isn’t supposed to be there, prompting the FBI’s arrival.
Content: Dead bodies, like lots of dead bodies (you're a mortician), stalking, murder, dark humour, reader is a little gothic and macabre, first time reader and Spencer meet, Spencer thinks she’s weird at first but his curiosity leads to him finding her endearing, reader is not used to socializing and has questionable coping mechanisms
Author's note: I’ve literally had this idea for months and needed to get it out of my system.
3,038 words
part two
masterlist
The hum of the mortuary’s refrigeration units was usually a comfort, but today, it felt unnervingly loud. The body wasn’t where it was supposed to be, and the one in its place looked like something out of a horror film—freshly dead, blood-soaked, and carved like a grotesque work of art.
You leaned back against the counter as the FBI agents filed in, their presence slicing through the eerie silence. The group was sharp, purposeful, and clearly used to handling chaos. Among them, one man immediately stood out.
He was tall, maybe six-foot-one, with tousled brown hair that looked like it had lost a battle with a comb. His dark blazer was slightly too big for his lean frame, and the way he adjusted his satchel strap every few seconds hinted at his slight nervous energy. But it was his eyes that caught your attention—warm and endlessly curious, darting around the room like they were cataloging every detail. He looked like he’d stepped out of a library and into a crime scene.
“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he said, his voice soft but deliberate as he approached you. His eyes lingered for a moment on your dark hair, the chipped edges of your blood-red nail polish, and the subtle skull pendant hanging around your neck. You could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he formed some unspoken observation.
“I’m the one who found the body,” you said, crossing your arms. His gaze flicked to your black long-sleeve shirt, noticing the faint wrinkles near the cuffs from where you’d been tugging at them earlier.
Spencer tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were just as much a puzzle as the case itself. “You work here?” he asked, though the answer was obvious.
You raised an eyebrow. “No, I just hang out in mortuaries for fun. Great ambiance.”
His lips twitched, the hint of a smile betraying his otherwise serious demeanor. “Right.” He glanced at the body, his tone growing more professional. “You said you found the body when you came in for your night shift?”
“Yes,” you replied. “This drawer was supposed to have a heart attack victim I was preparing for burial. Middle-aged woman, very boring. When I opened it today, this was waiting for me.” You gestured toward the bloodied body on the table, your voice calm despite the grim subject matter.
Spencer’s eyes followed your gesture, narrowing slightly as he examined the victim. “You’re certain this wasn’t here yesterday?”
“Dead certain,” you said without thinking, then winced. “Sorry. That wasn’t—I cope with dark humor. Occupational hazard, I guess.”
Spencer glanced at you, his expression softening. “I understand. It’s… not uncommon in this line of work.”
You studied him for a moment, noticing how his slight awkwardness seemed at odds with his sharp intelligence. He had an air of vulnerability about him, but there was also something strikingly self-assured in the way he analyzed everything around him. You wondered how someone like him—bright-eyed and endearingly earnest—handled the kind of darkness he must face every day.
“Do you recognize him?” Spencer asked, gesturing to the body.
You shook your head. “No. Never seen him before. And no one else has access to this section of the mortuary after hours. I locked everything up before I left last night. Whoever put him here must’ve known what they were doing to sneak it in.”
Spencer nodded, his gaze flicking between the cuts on the victim’s body. “The precision of these wounds… they were made deliberately. Whoever did this wasn’t in a hurry. They wanted us to notice the details.”
“Well, mission accomplished,” you said dryly, folding your arms. “They’ve got everyone’s attention now.”
Spencer glanced at you again, his expression unreadable but thoughtful. “You seem very calm for someone who just found… this.”
You gave a small shrug, brushing a strand of black hair out of your face. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen something gruesome. Probably won’t be the last.” You hesitated, then added with a wry smile, “Though I’ll admit, finding a surprise corpse is a new one, even for me.”
Spencer studied you for another moment, his head tilting slightly as if he were piecing together something about you. “You said you locked everything last night. Did you notice anything unusual before you left?”
You thought for a moment, absently tapping your nails against the counter. “Nothing out of the ordinary. But then again, ordinary isn’t exactly a guarantee in this job.” You paused, your eyes flicking back to the body. “If someone’s messing with me, they’ve got a pretty sick sense of humor. And that’s saying something, coming from me.”
Spencer didn’t respond right away, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he turned back to the body. “This wasn’t a joke. Whoever did this wanted to send a message.”
The weight of his words hung in the air, and you found yourself wondering just how deep this case would go. You had always been fascinated by death, but now, for the first time, it felt like death was staring back at you.
After the FBI had concluded their search and cameras were packed away and evidence collected, the usual silence you were used to began seeping back into the cold, sterile atmosphere of the mortuary. The body had been carefully documented and removed, leaving behind the faint antiseptic smell of bleach and cold steel. You stood by the counter, gathering your tools and preparing to get back to work once the team left.
You could feel the day's weight pressing down on you, but you refused to let it show and tried your best to keep your movements steady. You snapped on a fresh pair of gloves and reached for your notebook beside your workstation. The slight tremor in your hands betrayed your calm exterior.
Across the room, Spencer watched you. He stood near the doorway with his satchel slung over one shoulder, fidgeting with the strap as he lingered. He didn’t know why he hesitated to leave—there was something about you that held his attention. Maybe it was the way you handled the situation earlier, calm and composed despite the horrifying scene. In a way it may have seemed suspicious to someone else. Or maybe it was the way your dark humor revealed cracks in your otherwise detached demeanor. Whatever it was, he found himself walking toward you before he could think better of it.
You didn’t notice him at first, focused on arranging your tools in neat rows. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat softly that you looked up, startled.
“Oh,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “Still here?”
Spencer hesitated, not knowing how to handle your straightforward behaviour, his hands awkwardly stuffed into his pockets. “Yeah, um… I just wanted to check in with how you’re coping... After everything earlier?”
Your first instinct usually would have been to shrug the concern off, but the question had caught you off guard. You blinked at him for a second, unsure how to answer. “I—” You paused, tilting your head slightly as you studied him. “Oh I’m great,” you replied, your voice laced with sarcasm. “Finding a bloodied corpse someone snuck into my mortuary? Best day I’ve had in weeks, really.”
You winced at your own words, immediately looking down after saying them. “Sorry. That was—I shouldn’t have said that.” You fumbled for an excuse, your voice tight. “I just… I don’t talk to people much. I guess I don’t know how to… be normal in situations like this.”
Spencer’s expression softened, his voice gentle. “It’s okay. People cope in different ways. And after today, sarcasm seems pretty appropriate.”
You studied him for a moment, your eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. “You’re weirdly nice for someone who spends his days chasing psychopaths.”
The comment seemed to amuse him, though he didn’t quite smile but instead pursed his lips slightly. “And you’re surprisingly calm for someone whose workspace just turned into a crime scene,” he countered lightly.
You almost laughed, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “Guess we’re both a little weird.”
For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the hum of the refrigeration units filling the space between you. Then Spencer reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card.
“If you find anything else,” he said, his voice deliberate but kind, “or if you think of something that might help the case, call us. Here’s my number, just in case.” He held the card out to you, his fingers brushing yours as you took it.
You stared at the card for a moment, surprised by the gesture. It was small, routine, even, but it felt like more than that. You looked up at him, your usual stoicism softening into something almost vulnerable. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice warmer than before.
Spencer smiled, the kind of smile that was barely there but sincere. “Take care,” he said, adjusting his satchel as he turned to leave.
As he walked off, you couldn’t help the slight giddiness bubbling up inside you. It was a new sensation, as you tended to dislike most people, however, there was something about this handsome stranger that had you way more interested than you would've liked to admit.
It had been approximately 2 weeks since your ‘corpse surprise’, and work at the mortuary carried on as usual. There had been no leads or updates from the FBI regarding the mysterious body. No one had come forward to claim it, and any investigative efforts seemed to have hit a dead end. The unsettling memory lingered in the back of your mind, no matter how hard you tried to focus on work. The thought of someone managing to sneak a corpse into the mortuary without being caught still made your skin crawl.
You had just finished up with the cremation retort, the faint heat from the machine still lingering in the room, and had begun sweeping and cleaning up the crematory floor. The rhythmic swish of the broom against the tiles filled the quiet, accompanied only by the faint hum of the ventilation system.
As you moved toward the far corner, you noticed something out of place—a faint scuff mark on the otherwise spotless floor near the entrance. You frowned, leaning closer. It looked fresh, like someone had dragged something heavy through the room. A casket, maybe? No, you’d been the only one in here all morning, and the retort was prepped before your shift.
Brushing it off as nothing, you returned to sweeping, but a prickling sensation ran up the back of your neck. The kind of feeling you got when someone was watching you. You stopped mid-sweep and glanced over your shoulder, scanning the empty room. Nothing but sterile counters and a row of sealed urns waiting for pickup.
The ventilation hum seemed louder now, almost deafening in the otherwise silent space. Shaking your head, you muttered, “Get a grip,” and went back to cleaning.
Then came the noise.
A faint shuffle, just beyond the doorway that led to the preparation room. Your hand tightened on the broom handle, your heart thudding against your ribs. It wasn’t uncommon for sounds to echo strangely in the building—pipes groaning or metal trays shifting on counters—but this sounded different. Like a footstep.
“Hello?” you called out, your voice echoing back to you. No response.
Setting the broom aside, you stepped cautiously toward the preparation room, your shoes squeaking faintly against the tiles. As you approached, the air seemed colder, though you couldn’t tell if it was the room or just your nerves.
The door to the preparation room was slightly ajar, just enough for a sliver of shadow to spill into the hallway. You could’ve sworn you’d closed it earlier. Pushing the door open slowly, you peered inside. Everything seemed normal—the stainless steel countertops, the neatly arranged tools, the faint smell of disinfectant in the air.
And yet, the feeling of being watched persisted.
You turned to leave, but your eyes caught on something—a small object sitting on one of the prep tables. It hadn’t been there before. Approaching cautiously, you realized it was a photograph.
A photo of you.
It was grainy, taken from a distance, but unmistakable. You were outside the mortuary, standing by your car, looking down at your phone. Your throat tightened as you stared at it, your pulse roaring in your ears.
A faint creak sounded behind you, and you spun around, your breath catching. The door you’d left ajar was now fully closed.
Your hands trembled as you stared at the now-closed door. Despite every instinct in you screaming to leave, to run, you couldn't move. It was as if your entire body had been drenched in ice water and no longer wanted to respond.
When you had finally regained control of your movements you reached for your phone and fumbled through your bag without thinking. Your fingers brushed against the business card Spencer Reid had given you after your first meeting, his handwriting neat and precise on the back: Call if anything comes up.
You hesitated. Would he think you were overreacting? Maybe. But the photograph on the prep table stared back at you, a tangible reminder that this wasn’t just paranoia. You tapped the number on your phone and pressed it to your ear, your breath shallow as it rang.
After what felt like years, you finally heard Spencer's familiar voice on the other end, calm and professional, "Dr. Reid."
“Hi, uh, it’s… it’s me,” you said, trying to sound casual as you leaned against the prep table for support but still refusing to take your eyes off of the door. “From the mortuary? The weird body situation a couple weeks ago?”
“I remember,” Spencer replied, his tone softening. “Is something wrong?”
“No, not exactly,” you replied, but your voice cracked slightly on the last word, betraying your attempt to keep your composure. “I mean, nothing urgent, I don't think. I just… thought I should mention something odd that happened. Probably nothing.”
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. “You don’t sound fine,” Spencer said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. “What’s going on?”
You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table to ground yourself. “It’s just… someone left a photo of me in the preparation room. Like, an actual printed photograph. I’m not sure how it got there.”
Spencer’s end of the line went silent for a beat, then: “A photograph of you? Where was it taken?”
“Outside the mortuary. By my car, I think. It’s grainy, but it’s definitely me.” You tried to laugh, but it came out weak. “I know it’s probably just someone messing around. But um..." You paused for a moment, wondering whether you should tell him about the odd noises from before and risk sounding paranoid.
“The photo wasn’t the only thing. I thought I heard footsteps earlier, and there was a mark on the floor like something was dragged through the crematory. I… I don’t know, I was sure it was clean this morning when I came in for work, but maybe I’m just spooking myself.”
“You’re not spooking yourself,” Spencer interrupted, his tone more insistent now. “This is serious. Are you still in the mortuary?”
“Yes,” you admitted, glancing toward the door as if expecting it to move again.
“Okay, listen to me,” Spencer said, his voice steadying you. “I need you to leave the building. Lock it up if you can, but get somewhere safe. I’ll notify the team and come to check things out.”
Your chest tightened, a mix of relief and apprehension at his words. “You really think it’s that serious?”
“I don’t take chances with things like this,” Spencer replied. “Neither should you.”
You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, and pushed yourself off the table. “Okay... Okay, I’ll leave now.”
As you ended the call and pocketed your phone, your eyes darted around the room one last time. The photograph still lay on the table, a grim reminder that whoever had taken it might still be nearby.
You moved quickly now, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Grabbing your bag and coat, you threw them over your shoulder and cast one last glance around the dim room. The photograph still lay on the prep table, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pick it up. Your fingers trembled too much anyway. You just needed to get out.
Sliding your phone into your pocket, you tightened your grip on your keys and made your way to the door. Your footsteps echoed in the stillness, each sound magnified in the empty mortuary. Every shadow in the room seemed alive, every creak of the floorboards sending a shiver down your spine.
“Just get out, just get out,” you muttered under your breath, your voice barely above a whisper.
You reached the door, exhaling shakily as you reached for the lock. But just as your hand brushed the handle, a cold, sharp sensation pressed against your throat, freezing you in place.
“Don’t move,” a low, raspy voice growled behind you, the words sending a bolt of terror down your spine.
Your breath hitched, your mind racing as you registered the unmistakable feel of a blade pressing against your skin. You didn’t dare turn your head, every muscle in your body locked in place once more.
“You scream, and you’re dead,” the voice continued, so close you could feel the warmth of their breath against your ear.
Your keys slipped from your hand, clattering loudly to the floor. The sound echoed in the silence, a cruel reminder of just how alone you were.
“Good,” the voice murmured, the knife pressing ever so slightly harder against your neck. “Now be a good girl and do exactly as I say.”
Your pulse roared in your ears as panic clawed its way up your throat. You had no choice but to comply.
And that was when the lights in the mortuary flickered and went out, plunging you both into darkness.
Guys, what do you do when your great grandma's ask you to clean her house, Then all of a sudden she's showing you her fancy party purses and asking yoi which ones you want when she dies.....
WIP STORY: Be Determination
I know I don’t have a large following. I know this post will get lost in the sea of other posts. I know I don’t come on here often, and when I do I try to keep my page free from death and other serious topics. Yet, I think this is imperative to say, especially since I myself am of indigenous descent. I ask all of you to join me in solidarity.
Cole Brings Plenty, actor, model, and most importantly activist was found dead. He was assaulted in a club in Lawrence, Kansas. He was killed and his braids; a symbol of his heritage, of his Lakota decent, and a sacred symbol across many an indigenous nation, were forcibly cut.
I beg of thee and I plead with thee, spread the word. Do your part, however big or little, to bring light to this situation. Whether it be by reblogging this post or others alike, or by going out and making a stand. Do it.
Shed light on the situation. This goes beyond the death of one man. It is about the abuse and the destruction of natives and their communities. Of the killing of many an innocent soul. Of the brutalization of many First Nations.
We have seen time and time again, many indigenous people die by similar means. We need to bring light on the deaths of any and all indigenous individuals dead, missing or at risk. It is an epidemic, an assault, and a silent cleansing of many a nation.
Whether it be the estimated 6,000 dead at the hands of Canadian residential schools, the murdered and missing indigenous women and children, or the killing of an actor and activist, you cannot deny the sheer abhorrence of this problem. The problem of many Native American people dying, going missing and being abused, at an alarming rate. At a level unprecedented and unparalleled, at a level of which should not be kept silent.
Cole Brings Plenty, actor, model, activist.
Look at him and spread awareness for him and for many others befallen by the same fate.
Remember him. Remember all of the others. Let nobody else befall the same fate again.
Hello no pressure but I would love more of your thought process behind the Dying Dog. It's a gorgeous piece and I need the directors commentary.
Thank you guys for giving so much attention to that one, you make me happy as ever!
Well, about the thought process.... heh... Let's say... *puffs a sig like Joker from the movie Joker*.. There were no thought process.....🚬
The picture just popped up in my head and I knew that was some kind of symbolism or metaphor here (I can't differentiate the two) but consciously I couldn't explain what it was. Just feelings... With both writing and art, it happens often - symbols are born by themselves and I'm unable to decipher what they mean unless I materialize them.
If I am to guess, the Dying Dog is just a metaphor for Sniper's inner state. When dogs die from natural causes, there's usually a period of time, about few weeks, to notice. In this period, the dog owners usually prepare for the loss, saying goodbye and making sure the last days of their pet are happy.
But in this piece Sniper is not an owner but a dog himself. He feels like slowly dying somehow, he's prepared and he's waiting. Except the end doesn't come near. Imagine lying there in pain, waiting for the sanctuary of death, but it's been months and years and it never ends. Yet it feels like the end. Does it make sense? Just what is he preparing for, exactly, then?..
Dizziness, feeling cold and sweaty from the inner heat. Yet no physical sign of dying.
A literal dying dog looks more alive than him.
(Also, a little timelapse!!)