They were coming for him. The men and women of the local community had all experienced adverse circumstances, their children had ceased to be and had melted away with the passing of time. Their children, their slovenly children who had forsaken motivation in restitute of the world of prolific drug use and wild abandonment thrown into the days of youth and naivety. If they had focused on building something up within themselves; an identity, a function… They would have continued to exist, continued to live and profited from the experience of life.
But as time passed. As the proclivity for sloth and the endless hours spent intoxicating themselves on mindless entertainment. They slowly drifted away… Into the abyss, soaked up in the bottomless desire to consume and live a materialist existence. They, having ceased to exist on the physical plane, went on and entered the land of the dead. In the realm of spirits, their desire for retribution and hunger for life persisted beyond. Trying to break into the realm of the living and lay claim to something that was not theirs’. Life.
The spirits in the land of the dead called out. They wanted their revenge because life had been so cruelly taken away from them. But in the end, life is not something given, but something earned. Those spirits who had been so accustomed to having everything handed to them did not understand that one cannot simply live without a function. One’s fate is not simply directed or given to one’s self. However, one’s fate must be directed through the accumulation of an identity. And these individuals, who so callously contrived as being mere gears in the clockwork of existence, were just that. Simple gears who, having been given orders would in the next part of their lives, not know how to make decisions within themselves, but simply follow orders.
And so it comes to this. A spirit must be first imagined before it can possess the individual and prompt them into action. That spirit, once fully realized, takes upon itself a life of its own and then its fate is directed by the identity it chose to conceive. However the dead do not have names or faces. They are simply a howling abyss attempting to seize existence by the throat and seize it by force.
And so that’s where he waited. In an area up along the rims of the howling abyss. The howling abyss that fell off at the end of life, where the spirits called out for life, something that they never seemed to grasp in the first place. For life is not something practically gained by the mere precondition of birth. Life is something that is earned through the creation of self, through the development of self and through the extrapolation of personal character and identity.
If it were not for these identity traits being inherently interlaced within our fabric of being, we would be otherwise detained in a field of stagnancy so resolute and avoid of ambition that we would cease to progress at all.
If events do not occur, this disallows individuals from creating their individual identity and without an identity we would be sand in the winds of time, blown away and hardly ever tried or tested. Thus, the dead cease to be, not in their physical sense, but in their erosion of a calculating and comprehensive mind.