Zoffix Znet

He was young. But his death was here. He could smell it. See it. Touch it. Breathe at it.

He was zooming through a highway in his black Dodge Intrepid at a speed far exceeding the speed limit, his foot pressed hard into the accelerator pedal. As far as it could go.

The Point. What is the point? Why are we alive?

It is amazingly ironic: a Chemical Pattern survived for billions of years because it continually changed, adapted, and recreated. Now, it created an organ that will deem its own existence as futile, and will destroy itself.

Naturally, simpler forms of The Pattern survived because they were driven by a "desire" to continue their own kind. Is that it? Should he strive to have children who will carry on the pattern, who will create their own pattern that will create his grand-children, who will create their own patte… Wait!

No!

Is it still pointless?! An endless loop! Kill yourself, now!

Live for the species. Advance it. Help it.

King of the jungle. The most advanced animal. Man. Shitting all around his own planet, his habitat. Destroying his own fucking kind, killing his neighbour. Advanced? Hardly! Die!

War. Hunger. Injustice. Discrimination. Poverty. Disease… Death. DIE!

You don’t deserve to live.

Not until you change.

He aimed his car right between the ramp and the rest of the highway. The yellow, sand-filled buckets could hardly soften the impact at the speed he was going. He called it a point of no return. The point at which he knew he was dead, yet was still alive. There was not enough time to turn the car out of its path.

His car shot through the sand buckets and hit a cement and steel divider and, as far as he could see, flipped and rolled several times. He felt no paint, only a shock. His eyes perceived something, but that something was disjointed from the rest of the world. A view, a realization he was dying. Dead.

Cops came. Searched. They found a note. It said: "Fuck you, mankind. Change! Now!"

He hoped you will.