The Eleventh Hour

So someone (this thing called the WordPress PostADay blog, since you forced it out of me) just said I had an hour to live, plus five minutes to post about what I’m going to do in it. And my first thought: You think I can write a good blog post in five minutes?

Well, chances are I won’t be spending my last hour doing that.

The thing is, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve thought about this.

I don’t like to say I think about death a lot, because it sounds morose, but I do. I mean, doesn’t everybody? In any case, I like to think about how heroes and protagonists have a knack for going off on adventures and on quests that can easily kill them, all without a second thought. If only I could do that!

I mean, it’s like they’ve got nothing in life to live for, if they’re so quick to risk it all.

The thing that gets me is that while people like us would be worrying about our families or our friends if we were going off on a risk like this, they’re often trying to save these very people or else are adventuring with them, so those worries are never (usually) there. So that still leaves them in a class above ours.

I’m starting to think this won’t be a very long blog post. As it shouldn’t be. I’ve only got an hour, after all.

When I put myself in their shoes (as any imaginist would on occasion) quick on my to-do list would be to tell all the people that I love goodbye. This could take quite a few hours, actually. By which time the world would have already ended. But, you know, if I were a hero or some such protagonist, I’d always come back anyways, so I suppose it wouldn’t be necessary.

If I only had an hour to live, I’d want to leave a legacy. I’d want to write every story I’ve ever imagined, finish a mythology too daunting to start, and make sure all that I have inside of me has been hidden somewhere it’ll all be found in due time. But to leave such a legacy as this would take about a thousand hours, if even that’d be enough.

If given an hour to live, I’d probably say goodbye. I’d want to tell all my greatest friends I love them, tell all my faithful readers they should find another man to follow, and then curl up in a ball and die alone, with the songs I love stuck in my head (and if you caught both allusions there, I’d love you for the rest of my life, which by now is just a few minutes, but that’d still be something special).

In the end, an hour isn’t enough to live. And to live like I’m dying only makes it seem like less.

So why do we even have that expression, don’t you wonder? Shouldn’t we die like we’re living?

Yeah, that sounds like a better thing to do.

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2 thoughts on “The Eleventh Hour

  1. And, to quote one of the greatest Dutch comedians: “I once lived a day as if it were truly my last. What a shitty day it was.”

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