A Interview with an Immortal

A Interview with an Immortal

A Story by Austin H.

The question I am asked most in life is, “What's it like to live forever?” It's asked all the time. Every single press conference, every single meeting, and every single damn time I go out for groceries. Because yes, even the Undying likes to eat pretzels. I mean, do they ever think about it before they ask? Of course not, because if they did they'd realize that I've been asked this question almost every day for centuries. Yeah, centuries. I've heard this question more times than some people have heard anything. Ever. At first, when I was only 110 or so, when it became apparent to most people that I wasn't going to kick the bucket and the majority of the skeptics were quelled (hooray for birth certificates), I gave a heartfelt answer. I really tried to answer each person differently every single time. I would say things like, “Sure it's lonely, but you get used to it. I mean hey, I played soccer with my great-grandson yesterday and kicked his a**” or things such as “Oh, it's an honor alright. No one knows why I don't die, age, or suffer much, but it sure is an honor.” But the thrill of that wore off after another fifty years. So now I just give a single answer. “Think to yourself of time, the stress of deadlines, the pain of watching yourself get older and fatter everyday. Think of time, and how you're always worrying about the minutes slipping by, how you'll never have enough of it. Think of how that just tears apart your sanity, bit by bit, because what you lose can never, ever, be obtained again. Now, if your feeble mind can manage it, picture the opposite. That's what eternity is like.”

Another issue relevant to me is the issue of why don't I take over the worlds. Come on people, I'm not Superman or Lex Luthor. Or whatever superheroes you guys use today. No, not those prissy genetically engineered fairies flying about on the street everyday. I'm talking real superheros. Anyway, it's a stupid question. I possess average human strength. Can I lift a tank and toss it through the air? No. Can I lift my current great-whatever grandchild (I'm pretty sure he's the ninetieth in the chain) and toss him about? Yeah. So it would be terribly difficult for me to challenge every nation on every planet in every corner of this glorious empire and control them. They could lock me in a small cage, and leave me there to rot. Come on, idiots. They wouldn't even have to feed me. Really, I'm only politically important because I've been a student of history since before my emergence or whatever fancy word you ****s want to call it. I remember every god damned thing that has happened, so they ask me for clarification. Do they heed my information? Occasionally. But most of the time, whoever was wrong just ignores me and blows up whatever poor ******* they planned to anyway.

The subject of memories brings me to my next question. If I've been alive for the millenia, why haven't I gone insane from the sheer volume of memories? The more astute ask me how my brain is able to continue its ability to process time at a steady rate, instead of making things seem to move faster as I get older. Because it damn well does. My brain has about fifty percent more storage space than the average human for memories, names, numbers, and the like. So yeah, I should be swamped. But luckily, by the time I was in my fifties, our glorious race had achieved the technology to input our data from our minds into software or other electronic devices. I didn't care for the specifics, and you guys should all know the reasoning (they teach it in second grade, right?), but it's the whole “Wow guys, our mind is full of electrons, JUST LIKE OUR TECHNOLOGY!” or something. So I've obtained this huge-a*s server to store my memories. It's a tad sentimental, but I've decided to never delete a single file. I occasionally go through and have bouts of nostalgia about my past life. It takes a few months, and gets longer every time, but I usually flash through it at least once every century now. I've also got my cerebral implant linked to it, so I can just call up files instantly when I need them. It helps for the before-mentioned meetings with world leaders. Who runs the server? I do. I've had plenty of time to learn how to. It's backed up so many times, you'd s**t bricks if you heard the number. If my memories were trade-able, they could be used as a currency.

Since you're the Undying, are you a god? Man, I laugh my *** off every time someone asks me that. And then I cry after they leave. Because that's faith. I never had, and never can have, the ability to have faith in a deity. Some say I should because of the whole immortality thing. Others say that it's due to science and must be some sort of mutation. I've kept both sides able to believe their theories by kicking the s**t out of everyone who's tried to study me. I can never know if after death, one meets a kind and loving afterlife, or suffers oblivion. I can never, ever know if there's the possibility of joining people of my own kind, outside of this plane. I really want you to wrap your minds around this one. Eternity. My life is eternity. You all get to die after 120 or so years. Bam. Afterlife or oblivion. You get to discover the answer to the most beautiful question in existence. I get to float around in space once everything dies. Yeah, everything ever in the entire universe ever. Pretty deep and depressing stuff. You've spent what, five minutes thinking about it? Hell, I spent the entirety of the 31st century thinking about it, when I was still young. Yes, young to me. I was ****ing ancient to you guys. Always will be.

Another question, one a tad less depressing. Don't I miss the people I've loved, and all the friends I've lost? Hell yes. Who the hell wouldn't? I loved them. Not your stupid, teenaged infatuation. But loved. Deep, true, love. The kind that you can look into someone's eyes, feel their soul or whatever intertwined with yours, and say the words, “I love you.” My wife died when I was 93. She looked like your standard old woman. She was Asian, so she was pretty short. Me, I looked just like I do today, minus the beard. Your average looking forty-odd year old Caucasian male, only without the “Oh my god my life is halfway over!” kind of panic in my eyes. Hell, I'd throw the biggest damn party in history were I to know my life was halfway over. But yeah, I miss her. I miss her everyday. I say so when I wake up and say goodnight to her memory when I go to sleep. Sure, I don't sleep often, but I still do it. I miss my friends, my parents, and my brothers. But most people see their parents die before they're old. And a lot of friends die from accidents. And so, after I'd been around for a few hundred years, I realized “I can get over this. I can live on. With them.” Besides, my family line still exists. I live with my current “son”. I always have a “son” and a “grandson” at one time. Occasionally a “great-grandson.” Pretty much, I just adopt the descendant who has just lost their father. It works. They like it. Hell, my family has considered it a tradition. Have I remarried? No. Did I ever think about it? Sometime, at first. But yeah, I've dated. And yeah, I still get around. But I'm pretty sure I've been sterile for a very, very long time. So I just live on.

Damn, you want another question? How about, don't I get bored with life, since I've done everything. Nope. Why? Because you're all hilarious idiots who can't tell your ***es from your hands. It's like watching a comedy movie for life. And if you don't know what a movie is, I'll beat the **** out of you. I know every damn form of martial arts and have mastered them all. Probably twice. Moving on.

Don't I get injured, hurt, or bleed? Hell. Yes. I stub my toe and curse out the damn table like every other guy. I cut myself while shaving like normal people. But I won't lose an arm, bleed to death, or have my brains blown out. Divine intervention? Some weird resistance to high levels of energy and the ability to redistribute the energy away? Luck? Maybe none, maybe all. But I don't care why. Only you people have ever seemed to care.

What was going through my mind that one time, when I did the thing with the-Woah! Gonna stop you right buddy. I don't like to talk about that. You can just read it like everybody else in your history book. I hope I have a little section. What? I have my own damn course? Hot damn. “The Undying: His contributions to Humanity and Beyond.” Such a snazzy title for a textbook. I'm glad I matter.

And here's the final question. The one that gets asked with the most vigor. The one that I've never answered: What is my name? If it's been lost to all of you, and stays just known to me, that's not my fault. I am the Undying. The Immortal. Humanity. Father Time. The Unassailable. Some drunk people mistake me for their friend Frankie. I am Timeless and Timeful. I'm a Demigod. I'm a tyrant. I'm a grumpy old man who swears like people did hundreds of centuries ago. But the truth is, after all is said and done, my name doesn't matter. I'm just a man.

© 2012 Austin H.


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Added on April 18, 2012
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Author

Austin H.
Austin H.

AZ



About
I am a student of history first and foremost. I like to imagine myself as a writer and weaver of beautiful words. I think myself witty, cynical, and critical. My favorite works to read are historical .. more..

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