Hundreds of people in the wall. The names on the small bronze plaques belong to ashes, the bigger names on bigger bronze plaques belong to bodies, quietly rotting. Outside, hundreds more in the dirt, marked by stone or bronze with names and dates. There are dates ninety years apart and dates only weeks apart. Ninety years is nothing compared to the universe, a huge chunk of time compared to a human's attention span. How often did the person that used to be actually live even five of their ninety years?
This is where it all ends, my friends. Rotten meat in the ground probably poisoning worms with preservative chemicals or gray gritty powder released to the wind. All of us, every time, the same end. No matter the vitamins you take or the fitness regimen you pursue or which god you try to suck up to or buy off. Worm food or ashes.
Do you feel the freedom in this knowledge? Revel in it.
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