Eulogy

A Story by Dustin

A concept that came to me for no apparent reason, and I decided to run with it and write. Its something of an abstract glance into my views of the world.

A group of people all stared; it was all they could do. They had seen nothing like this before. All strangers, yet all feeling the same thing. One man approached the body of the young woman who drifted to the shore. He knelt down and examined it, as everyone held their breath. Her arms were tied to her shoulders, crossed over her chest, and her face seemed so peaceful, so unnaturally at ease. He saw a letter beneath her hands, and withdrew it. Once unfolded all could see a note, written in elegant and beautiful handwriting. But he was the only one who held it, the only pair of eyes that read the last words of this poor soul, and he knew it was his responsibility to read it so all could hear, so this crowd of strangers could all share the eulogy of the departed.

Dear reader, who you may be I do not know, but I am someone close to you. Someone important to you, no matter whom it is that found what was left of me. I have come to you to share a message of warning, a message of hope and despair, of the truest happiness and gravest of tragedy.

What is my story, you ask? Whom precisely am I? My story is your story, and I am all around you. I am the unthanked gift, the unspoken love, the untrue words and the unheard truth. The one who finds hope in misery and light in the eclipse. The one who helps another before themselves, who gives without need to get, who cares for those that care of nothing. I am the person who cares too much to say, the stranger who offered a hand, the enemy that calls for peace.

The reader could no longer prevent the tears from creeping down his face. A woman came from the crowd, a stranger on any other day but a close friend now, and gently took the letter from his hand. It was her turn to give the speech this departed messenger could not give herself.

When you think back, you will find that I am there; I am in your memory, as a gentle hand teaching you to walk and the friend that put you first. I have always been with you. But I am not well; every good deed unnoticed weakens me, every moment of greed or selfishness saddens me, every act of cruelty or hatred sears my fragile skin. And soon, one more moment passes that I withhold kindness, one more person goes by without comfort, and one more stranger feels as if no one cares.

And I know why it is. I now know that without appreciation, you feel no need to show it to another. Without kindness, you want to shun others. Without happiness, you want to make others feel worse, so you no longer reside at the lowest pit of despair. Dispassion towards others spreads like a poison; everyone you come in contact with could become infected, and they will continue eroding the world they live in, not always through intention but from lack of the strength to take action, to stand up and fight. We are all diseased, every single one of us. What makes me different is that I believe there is still hope. But, alone, I cannot win, because alone I am weak.

This shell of a person carrying this message was me. I fought the infection, but stood alone, and because none other cared, I too stopped caring. No matter what I gave, I could not make other’s care. And so I gave everything, extinguished my fire so that you can see that the darkness is here.

But I am not gone, not yet at least; I still help you without asking anything in return, I still do what is right over what I want, I still care about you more than life itself. I am not just a stranger, I am you. But in time, I shall fade away completely, defeated by the disease of apathy. Even if you have already given up on yourself, I will not give up on you, because you are the only hope I have.

Please, the only thing I am ever to ask is not to give up. Because when you give up, when you stop caring, then truly I will be gone, and never again can I return.

Soft tears ran down everyone’s faces as the reader finished the letter. Even though none of them knew who this dead woman was or where she came from, they all lost someone dear to them. And for that moment, it was not a group of people standing there; there was only one being, one soul mourning a terrible loss in many bodies.