I stand deep. Before me is a canyon, deep as night, but a tad less comforting. On the back of my neck I sense thrill, a small thought of danger and unknown fate.

Fate. I don't believe in it. I think whatever happens may happen, but it may not.

Knowing where I stand, I begin to feel wonder and I know I'm home. I know that I'm on the edge of the Mariana Trench, the deepest part of the Pacific. I've dreamed of doing this.

I know it's the Trench because I've seen it many times on television. I've always known I was born to come here. Born to die. That's it.

As my feet begin to move on the path of their destiny, I pause to think: what of the people who care about me? What will they think?

Then: what people? No one cares about me. Plus, there can't be any other people. The others are just mindless mannequins. Evolution has brought us past that.

But- the people- they won't care?

As the reality hits me that I'm dead, no one cares, and that I don't have to care, I can't help but to try and fathom my life. Well, I'm here. I've got that much.

Dead. Me. Oh, okay. I must've done something right, or else I wouldn't have been allowed to come here.

How did I die? Couldn't have been illness, I'd remember. I think I'd recall suicide... Oh yes, that's it. I just up and died. At 23 years old? No... Hmm. I...-oh dear. Yes. I died of insanity. I was left in the hands of culture and my own mind.

Now that that's over with, I get an unimagineable and unmistakeable feeling of happiness. Ten thousand songs play in my head, some of them my own. It is chaotic, but it's very harmonic and it helps. With a mental smile on my face, the music enveloping me, I make three moves. I breathe. One last breath. I scream. One last scream. And I fall, let myself go, one last time.