1 The Ark

Greed is inevitable. In a world without Gods, a world without purpose, greed becomes the driving force. Greed is the driving force because when we have no masters, we will create masters for ourselves, and what better master can we have than our emotions?

They are always with us, always giving us direction, always telling us what to do, and they treat us with a good feeling when we obey, so why would we ever disobey them? Wouldn't that be idiocy? Wouldn't that be stupidity? Wouldn't that be madness?

This is how hedonism, eliminating discomfort and pursuing pleasure, becomes the dominant philosophy. And, when the world is hedonistic and pursues pleasure, then people will create more out of their lives so that they can live easily with all the pleasures the world possesses.

But, when a person is given everything they need to live comfortably, what do they do? If they possess all the comforts they could pursue from birth, then what do they become? What will they make out of what they have? I tell you that they make nothing; they pursue nothing; they become nothing; their purpose is null, for they have already fulfilled it. When you can already live comfortably, then your purpose has been fulfilled, and you do nothing. Such a person came from dust for no reason and only waits to return to dust.

August was such a person, a hedonist given everything. He lived for nothing, for no purpose; he was nothing. Not only did he make nothing out of what he had, he even squandered what he had. His golden mind allowed him to invent and create more than any past scientist, but he did nothing with it. He had ideas but made nothing of them because he didn't care.

He already had everything given to him, so why would he care? He didn't need money, didn't need friends, didn't need a relationship. He neither needed nor wanted anything because he already had these things.

However, depression was a constant in his life, his only discomfort. As a senior in high school, he hated everything. He loathed his school, his family, his friends, his girlfriend, himself, his life, everything.

The day after he graduated high school, he locked the door to his room with a click. Connected to his room was a fully stocked kitchen complete with marble floors and countertops, the highest quality cutlery available, and more food than he could eat.

The lighting was superb, highlighting his made bed, which sat on a dais, his grand mahogany desk, and his priceless belongings. He had hired the very best to design everything that was here.

When he entered the room, he hatefully glared at the crystal chandelier hanging above his bed. He could feel it in his throat and then in his eyes. The tears began to pour. He wouldn't let himself sob, but the tears fell in earnest.

He began to wipe his phone, slowly and methodically getting rid of every contact he had. He despised all of them for one reason or another. His girlfriend didn't love him; his friends didn't like him; his family didn't care. They all saw him as an accessory to their vanity.

After wiping all of his contacts personally, he reset it to its factory settings. There wasn't much meaning in it - it wouldn't matter soon, but he still enjoyed destroying this part of his life. It was only symbolic, but it still satisfied him.

The phone sailed through the air and into an open trashcan in the kitchen. He had made the shot but wouldn't have cared if it had shattered against the floor. It wouldn't matter.

He took a cleaver from the knife holder. The hired help sharpened his knives regularly, making certain that he always had the best amenities available to him. The tears continued to fall, his eyes now red and swollen. He still would not let himself sob, but he had to take deep breaths so that he didn't panic.

Slowly, drained of energy, he lumbered to the personal bathroom connected to his kitchen. His heart pounded as he undressed, and tears wet his shirt. He was nearly hyperventilating now. Naked, he entered his massive shower with the knife. Raising the cleaver, he brought it down on his wrist.

There were easier ways, but he needed to be beyond help. He didn't trust himself not to wimp out and call for help. He screamed, but nobody heard him. They were all too far away. His walls were soundproof, and so were theirs.

Would they care when they found him? Would they care enough to find him? Or, perhaps the better question would be: how much would they care? Would they mourn him or his role? Was that all he was to them, somebody to fulfill a role and look pretty? He didn't know, and he didn't care.

The cleaver had severed most of his hand, cutting through to the tissue on the other side. Now, he sobbed, holding his maimed limb to his chest. The hand flailed around whenever he moved before the skin holding it on tore, and it fell to the floor, now inanimate and cold.

The bloody knife lay there, cold and uncaring, like the rest of the world. His life was pouring out of his arm and down the drain.

His body twisted and writhed in pain as spots appeared in his vision. He blinked, thrashed, and flailed to cope with dying, but nothing could stop the encroaching cold. He couldn't stop it anymore as more black spots appeared. More and more spots covered his vision before reality was gone, and he lay dead.

He couldn't think, move, see, or hear. He only was. He was conscious of nothing. Time passed unheeded as he lay in an infinite pool of darkness.

After an unknown amount of time, two chains wrapped around his soul, and he lurched forward. Although he was unconscious of it, he was dragged forward, towards something.

In the darkness, a being appeared, and with it appeared the cosmos. The pool of darkness and nothingness was disrupted by the light of space, though August couldn't see it. It appeared as a vertical line of golden light that sprouted wings and chains. The light split into more strands of light before coalescing into one again, forming a cycle. Two chains anchored the topmost set of wings and drew them taut while the lower set moved freely.

This being lurched forward again, dragging him behind. The two chains began to draw taut around his soul, now putting stress on it. As it picked up speed, the chains exerted increasing pressure on his soul, threatening to tear him apart.