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anonymous, Featured Image: Kaleidoscope Ruth Grade 12

The fall to Tartarus takes nine days… apparently. I do wonder whether this is accurate. It’s more likely there’s some form of an equation that would have to factor in mass and surface area. In the myths, Hesiod dropped an anvil. The anvil took nine days to fall to Tartarus. Now, I don’t have a great body image but I will allow myself to believe that I am lighter than an anvil. Which means that I will probably be falling for more than nine days. Unless air resistance isn’t a thing here, which seems unlikely based on the popping in my ears and the fact that my hair has not stopped blowing into my eyes for the past two hours. 

The problem is that mythology is never really clear about the rules that come with falling into Tartarus. I know, because of the whole ‘science’ thing, that I can’t survive more than three days without water, but… I’m technically already in the underworld. So is it even possible for me to die here? Maybe it’ll be comparable to Tantalus’s situation, always getting more thirsty but never dying. 

Mythology also forgot to mention the smell. The smell is probably the main thing that makes me believe that I am actually going to die. It smells like dead bodies. Or, it smells like what I think dead bodies would smell like. I’ve never actually smelled a dead body… which considering my line of work is surprising. 

Am I actually quite curious about what’s going to happen to me? Yes. Yes I am. Considering the unreliability of the sources surrounding the fall to Tartarus (looking at you Hesiod) I do wonder what it’s going to actually be like. Whether I’ll take nine days to fall, whether it’s possible for me to die. Whether this monologue that I’m recording into my phone is even gonna be understandable over the noise from the so-called ‘air resistance’. Not that it matters. None of these questions actually matter.

Whether I survive or whether I die, it’s not like I’m ever going to live again. Either I die falling or I die when I hit the ground or I die in Tartarus. Or, I don’t die (because I’m already in hell) and then I just… exist… in Tartarus. Forever. Not talking to anyone, not drinking, not eating. Just existing.

Even then, isn’t it just as though I’ve died? The only thing guaranteed to happen after we die is that those who love us will miss us. People are going to miss me, I think. I hope. Otherwise I’ve picked the wrong friends. My point is, I am never going to eat or drink again, I am  going to spend the rest of eternity in hell and the people who love me will miss me. Am I not dead then? 

Well. That got depressing really quickly. Sorry, my goal isn’t to depress you. Or… depress me… I guess. Getting existential is inevitable I suppose. I’m about to die, whether literally or figuratively. The thing is that I’m scared. I’m so scared. I don’t know what’s waiting for me when I hit the ground in nine days. Maybe that’s the point, we fall for so long that we inevitably theorise about what’s going to happen. Then, when we hit the ground, we see Tartarus how we expect to see it. Maybe Tartarus is a tropical island, with coconuts and stuff. Anyway, I think I’m going to try to sleep. If I don’t wake up then… well. It doesn’t matter. No one is ever going to hear this.