He was merely taking a walk.
An unconscionable miasma of shimmering lights danced before his eyes, beautiful and terrible at the same time. The fantastical show, almost fictional in its anomalousness, was ubiquitous- the liquid mass of static imbued every object he could see, whether real or imagined. Whether his eyes were closed or opened, they saw nothing but the stage of a wonderful and yet wistful life, playing an electric and rhythmic beat to the sound of his heart. His soul shimmered and balked at their tenacity, as if it were distraught and covered with liquid silver.
Yet he felt none of this. His eyes saw it all- perhaps they had their own thoughts, lives, emotions- but he was separate as if the anchor to his own self was made maverick and insane by the ominous illumination. The hive mind cared not for his excuse- their facetious and yet irreparably damaging nature caused them to feel nothing but contempt for the pitiful creature they had infested. He was besieged on all sides of his sanity; a phalanx of societal and emotional pressures here, an army of mental and physical contention there.
He could do nothing but retreat inside his mind.
Within himself he knew that he existed. He was him; there was nobody else there to contend otherwise. His thoughts were his alone, in the white tranquil pool of his infinitely expansive mind. Yet when he inevitably had to issue from his sanctuary to take up the mantle of being human, his resolve was obliterated by an endless wave of luminosity. Who was to say that the radiance wasn't a mere fabrication? Who was to say that it was?
And yet, he was to receive no council from his own thoughts. To him, and to all humans, they were highly disorganized discourse, blasé and incapable of direction. He could only turn to the effervescent and beleaguering radiance that plagued him. His valiant efforts, however, were always in vain, for he would never develop the fortitude required to break out of the heavy shackles placed upon his delicate psyche. The most efflorescent elixir was incapable of even scratching the dulcet cage placed upon his life.
So he took a walk.
His legs took him along an ephemeral, beautiful path, open in the bustling streets of his home's surroundings and quickly tapering down into the barest of trails surrounded entirely by trees. This, of course, was entirely irrelevant to the man- indeed, he was incapable of seeing it through the insouciant brilliance that ruined and yet enhanced his existence. No matter how he pleaded and begged with himself- or was it his eyes? His all-seeing eyes?- the impure love forced upon him by his malediction was pervasive.
After many moons- lunar cycles that cast gossamer light quite unlike the brash and foolish luminance that was forced upon him- he was in a state of lassitude. The labyrinthine light was far too much for his woebegone soul, so titillated by the tintinnabulation of the dying breath of others that it was nearly destitute of love. After so much light from the satellite of our collective home- such a wonderful, magical thing, isn't it?- he was finally persuaded as to the beauty of the end of all things.
So he took a walk.
He took a walk throughout the same path he walked through so many moons earlier; the light pulsating more urgently as if it sensed that the life it lived so fantastically for so long was about to be cut short. His legs took him to the edge of a faraway bridge at the end of the world- a lonely, sad place, bereft of love but in possession of something equally as precious: knowledge. His eyes looked downwards, towards the misty abyss that would claim his breath as he had claimed so many others. He made the choice even though he wasn't truly in control; as his body plummeted towards the ground, he contemplated his last action. He simply reached inside himself and snuffed out the light.
