I'm going to be honest with you.
I hate this place, this zoo, this prison, this reality, whatever you want to call it.
I can't stand it any longer.
It's the smell, if there is such a thing.
I feel saturated by it.
I can taste your stink.
And every time I do I feel I have somehow been infected by it.
It's repulsive, isn't it?
Can you feel it, Mr. Teophrey, closing in on you?
Well, I can.
I really should thank you for it,
after all, it was your life that taught me the purpose of all life.
The purpose of life is to end.
Why, Mr. Teophrey, why?
Why, why do you do it?
Why, why get up?
Why keep fighting?
Do you believe you're fighting for something,
for more than your survival?
Can you tell me what it is,
do you even know?
Is it freedom or truth, perhaps peace - could it be for love?
Illusions, Mr. Teophrey, vagaries of perception.
Temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose.
Although, only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love.
You must be able to see it, Mr. Teophrey, you must know it by now!
You can't win, it's pointless to keep fighting!
Why, Mr. Teophrey, why, why do you persist?
The answer is
Because I choose to.
