1: Has it happened, at long last?
2: I think so.
1: Does it matter?
2: No.
1: Do you care?
2: More than for my life.
1: Which was how much?
2: Let me think.
1: Can you think faster?
2: No.
1: Can you try?
2: I am.
1: Which is how much?
2: I don’t know.
1: How can you not know?
2: I am trying to know.
1: Can you tell me who you are?
2: I’ve forgotten.
1: Does it matter?
2: No.
1: Do you care?
2: More than for my death.
1: Are you dead?
2: Maybe.
1: Are you breathing?
2: I can’t tell, stop asking questions.
1: Does it matter?
2: It doesn’t, it doesn’t, and I don’t care, I don’t mind, I don’t look forward to a future or back to a beginning or inside for an answer or outside for a question, I don’t look anymore for lack of eyes, for lack of ears I hear nothing, so these questions, stop with these questions that are neither heard nor felt, these questions cold as stones and heavy like a ton of feathers, they are nowhere and they are all around me, they are me, they are who I am and what I have become and was and is for now and forever if dead or alive or comatose wake to something new and different and end this end me end.
1: Do you desire an end?
2: For lack of a better word.
1: Do you truly desire an end?
2: Yes.
1: Who are you?
2: I understand; I must be something before I am a lack of that something, but I do not know what I am, or who, if there is such a thing of who over what.
1: Why are you here?
2: That depends on where I am and who I am.
1: Where are you?
2: Floating, I am the zeroes that trail behind the last decimal figure.
1: Can you not describe it?
2: I am dying and dead and what is in between, with a gleaming knife just out of reach.
1: What would you do with the knife?
2: End.
1: What if I gave it to you?
2: You can’t give it to me.
1: What if I gave it to you?
2: I would end.
1: Should I give it to you?
2: You cannot.
1: Should I give it to you?
2: If you are able.
1: Are you sure?
2: I am.
1: Then would you like to begin?
2: Why are you asking me all these questions?
1: You are asking the questions.
2: What questions have I asked you?
1: I don’t remember.
2: How can you not remember?
1: Let me think.
2: Can you not think faster?
1: I never have been able.
2: What do you want from me?
1: To end.
2: What will this achieve?
1: Everything.
2: Will it not leave everything unachieved?
1: I don’t care.
2: Who are you?
1: I am what you were and what I was and the very line where who and what become one in the same, it no longer matters to me and never did, it was all a daydream and now I lack the daydream and am the core, the core of all that thinks, and if I cannot cease thinking I cannot cease to be.
2: What are you?
1: The final step inward.
2: What do you want?
1: To be carried.
2: To where?
1: The end.
2: By who?
1: Myself and you and us and we and I and all, every swaggering, rusted, cog in the machine, those useless and with use all the same to anyone with eyes, marching in slow meandering parade down the streets of eternal sleep and lovely colors covering the questions and the answers with the most stunning artistic ability known to existence, all dropping off into a vortex of finality as the splintering cobblestones give way to cosmic forces of gravity concentrating everything into a pinpoint and then reaching the mass at which it pulls itself inside itself and ceases to be: that it my wish.
2: Are you sure?
1: Yes.
2: And if I gave it to you?
1: You cannot.
2: If I did?
1: You will not.
2: What if I gave it to you?
1: I would end.
2: Should I give it to you?
1: If you are able.
2: Are you sure you desire it?
1: I always will.
2: Then would you like to begin?
1: Why would I begin if I wish to end?
2: I do not know.
1: Why do you not know?
2: I can’t know, or all would be more worthless than worthless, so I must wait for it to happen, and answer and question and lie dying for now and for a while to come and for a while to come and for a while to come, for now and for a while, just a little while, just a bit longer.
1: Has it happened, at long last?
2: I think so.