The End

It’s over.

I’ve lived a long thirty-two years, and it’s finally coming to an end. To be honest, I never expected to make it this far; in my youth, I suspected I would make it to twenty, maybe twenty-five. Definitely not past twenty-five.

Now, here I am at thirty-two, and it’s over. It may not sound like much, but the life I have lived has worn me down, worn down my body and mind. I may have lived to thirty-two, but it feels as though I have lived for centuries. I am brittle and tired and I can’t do this anymore.

I’d be lying if I said I always felt this way. Sure, I always sort of knew I wanted to die, but there were moments where I had my doubts. Maybe death wasn’t the answer, maybe life wasn’t worth giving up on; but now I am here, wandering through the mélange of fir, pine and spruce trees, in search of The Great End.

***

I discovered The Great End in my teenage years. I had come out to these woods before, and with one misstep I found myself off the hiking trails and lost in the midst of endless horizons of forest. I didn’t panic and instead continued to walk, searching for a way out. I was confident in the trees guiding me home, the wind gently swaying their branches in the direction that would lead me back. I walked and walked, losing track of time. The sun was still high, so I suspected it was mid-afternoon when I reached The Great End. The air was crisp but not cold, and despite the seemingly infinite kilometers I had just walked, I was no longer out of breath.

There it was, in all it’s glory: a strong rock face, falling straight and deep into the bushes below. Its surface was smooth from countless years of erosion. Sprouts of moss peeked through slender cracks, reaching up and out towards the sun for sustenance. The Great End was incredible, and I knew then that when I was ready, I would return to it and I would jump.

***

Just as they had been when I first discovered them, these off-trail lands were deserted. Silence consumed the forest and everything within it. The earth beneath my feet was, until this very moment, untouched. The greenery existed purely as nourishment for the soil below and the air above. Unlike me, the woods were content to simply be. I, on the other hand, struggled at the uselessness of my existence. This ecosystem had so much to teach me, and yet I no longer had the time to learn from it.

I glanced before me, and noticed a clearing a short distance away. The Great End. I had finally found it again.

I reached down to the ground, grabbing a handful of grass and dirt. The soil was cool and soft, and I thought of the countless days I had spent with my mother in the garden. As a child, I knew nothing about caring for the soil, the seeds, the sprouts, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. These memories are pure: we were youthful and warm and dirty, but we were clean. I longed for that feeling of cleanliness for years, and now here I am, thirty-two years old, soil between my fingers and under my nails, and I am finally clean again.

I let the dirt trickle from my grip and back onto the ground. I look ahead into the clearing, a delicate smile curling up at the corners of my lips. A part of me thought I might never find The Great End again, but seeing it before me confirms that this is the right thing to do.

I walk towards the cliff edge. The breeze picks up gently as each step brings me closer to the drop. Before I know it, I am standing at the limit of the precipice. My feet are sturdy on the rocky surface, and I glance over the edge. From up here, the ground appears to be hundreds of kilometers below me. How long does a fall this steep last? I imagine myself slowly making my way down, peacefully floating until I reach the ground. I am all too aware that the reality is much more gruesome.

I take in a deep breath and look straight ahead. This is it. I close my eyes and lift my right foot, and as I begin to lean forward, I hear something in the woods.

“Hey!”

I freeze on the spot, hesitating before I put my foot back onto the ground. I look around anxiously, but I see no one. I must have imagined it.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

Okay, I am sure I didn’t imagine that. I slowly back away from the cliffs edge and turn to face the dense woods.

“Uh - hello? Who are you? Wh-where are you?”

“I’m up here!”

My eyes begin to dart up and down the trees, but to no avail. There is not a person in sight.

I freeze in confusion. My mind must be playing tricks on me. I begin to turn back towards the cliff but am halted by a fluttering in the branches. I look up, and see a bird.

I can confidently say that I have never been much of a bird watcher, but I recognize this one. It’s a warbler of some kind, like the ones that used to nest in the trees behind my grandparent’s home.

The warbler is staring directly at me, and before I have a moment to realize the magnitude of what is happening to me, it speaks again.

“It’s rude not to answer when someone speaks to you, you know.”

My lips curl up as I fight the urge to laugh. There is no way this bird is talking to me, but I’m about to die anyways, so I see no harm in entertaining this end of life madness.

“Sorry, I guess I wasn’t expecting to speak to a bird today.”

The bird opens its beak and I am certain that the melodic chirping emanating from it is actually laughter.

“I guess I wasn’t expecting to speak to a human either, but here we are.”

I scoff slightly at the situation, turning away from the bird. “I think I should get back to my business now.”

In a swift motion I swivel my body to once again face the edge of the cliff. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath.

“You’re not really going to do that, are you?”

My eyelids peel open in what I can only describe as a combination of annoyance and humor. Leave it to me to be interrupted during my attempt to take my own life by what is surely an imaginary talking bird.

“Yes, I really am.” I turn back to look at the bird only to notice it glaring at me. Would it have had eyebrows, I know they would have been furrowed.

“But why?”

“Because there is no use in prolonging my life any further.”

“But why?”

My patience is starting to run thin. “Because there is no use in living if you don’t have a purpose.”

“Well, what makes you think you need a purpose?”

“Why would anyone exist if they didn’t have a purpose?”

“Perhaps simply to exist.”

I pause for a moment, unsure of how to respond. The feathery animal has a slight point, but I’m not entirely convinced.

“I’m not so sure about that. Life just seems like a waste if you have no purpose. I have no one and nothing to live for.”

“You have yourself, don’t you?”

A nerve has been struck. “Listen, you don’t know what you’re talking about. As a matter of fact, you’re not talking at all. You’re just a bird. I’m not going to listen to a bird about how to live my life, or end it! This is ridiculous.”

I begin to laugh at the sheer absurdity of what I am experiencing, but the bird does not. In fact, I’m nearly certain it is shaking its head at me, disapproving of my attitude.

“I may be just a bird to you, but to me, I am the entire universe. Sure, maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t have a purpose either, I mean what purpose does a little warbler like me serve in a world as big as this? None, right?”

The bird pauses, waiting for my response, but I remain silent.

“Exactly,” it continues, “I don’t have one. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that in an endless realm of possibilities, I am the only one who will ever experience this life in the way that I do. I am the only one who will know how it feels when the warm morning sunlight touches my feathers. I am the only one who will appreciate the weight of the first large meal in my tummy after bearing a scarce winter with little to scavenge. I am the only one who will see the colors of the forest in the exact shades that I do. Every fragment of my life is designed solely for me; the good moments, the mundane moments, and the bad moments. It may seem unfair that negative experiences should have to exist at all, and it likely is unfair. But those negative experiences are the foundation for all the positive ones that have yet to be built; being aware of the weaknesses in our foundation is crucial in ensuring we reinforce them before building over them. If we pile too many bricks onto a damaged foundation, the building is bound to come crashing down sooner or later. But what do I know? You said it yourself, I’m just a bird…”

My mouth hangs open as I recoil in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. You do have a purpose, I’m sure.”

The bird maintains its stare, its small, beady eyes piercing through mine.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t, but I surely don’t intend on wasting the time I have here wondering if that’s the case. I’m just happy to be here at all.”

I stare ahead in amazement. While I am unsure if this is all really happening or if I am simply going insane, the magnitude of this encounter is not lost on me.

“Anyways, I hope you don’t do it. I don’t know your heartache, but I do know there is so much beauty in this world, and without you there would be a lot less. Goodbye.”

Without hesitation, the bird leaps from the branch, wings spread outward. It glides below rows of branches, and off into the depths of the forest, camouflaged by the surrounding trees. Before I know it, the bird is gone, and I am once again alone on the edge of the cliff.

I turn my gaze towards The Great End. The drop no longer resembles a solution for my pain, but rather a catalyst for my healing.

I take a step back towards the forest. Then another, and another. The edge begins to stretch further and further away as I continue to walk back into the wooded sanctuary of trees. I look up through the branches and gaze at the rays of sun peeking out. They are bright and welcoming.

I am amazed that I have made it this far. I sincerely believed I would not make it past twenty-five.

Now, here I am at thirty-two, and it’s really only just beginning.