The Funeral Procession for Scarlet Eclectic

Hi!! Are you surprised to hear from me again? I never gave myself a proper burial and it’s been eight days. I know, I know, we always joked that I’d be late to my own funeral and I am. I’m late at finishing the process of dying itself, too, like how is this scarlet bitch still typing?

Now that you know there is a corpse typing on her computer in our vicinity and you’re x degree of alarmed, let’s talk straight for a second. Or as straight as you can manage. Straight like totally pure and unaffected by anything. Probably disgusting but don’t make a face or anything, shhhhh be strong. You thought that I left, and I made you all think that I was leaving, but I didn’t know my destination yet. I needed a new name, and that was the only thing holding me back. So tonight, I sat down and I tried to think of one for the first time, and it came to me exactly a fraction of a second later and I had my destination. I guess there is an afterlife after all and in it, the sun and moon and everything you know is in darkness, and everybody’s dancing, and they’re tipsy. No, I’m not sure how we can see them if it’s dark, either. Maybe we’ve gained feline vision in the afterlife.

Before I start shoveling the dirt on myself (because I couldn’t afford gravediggers and killing two birds with one stone is more efficient, anyway), I just want to thank you. It wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t, like, I never thought I’d leave a suicide note when I went, but maybe eight days after you die, it hits you that you could’ve really said something and you didn’t. Thank you. Thank you for reading all this, even though I probably made some of you feel like if you knew my name, it would be worse than death for me. I secretly wanted you to. And so it didn’t turn out to be worse than death, and death isn’t that bad, either (plus it looks like you’d rather just read this and I theoretically die, because that’s how impossible it was to stop you). Death happens to everyone, and it has to come sometime. Why not now? This isn’t really a great time for philosophical debate considering I’ve almost covered my legs. I’m not sure how I’ll cover my arms and everything if I’m also wielding the shovel. Damn, maybe this isn’t the most efficient. Too late to stop now. If I can, I will find you in the next life and the next. If I don’t, then please find me. Because if I don’t, it was because I couldn’t, not because I didn’t want to, and what’s a story without some fucking continuity?


~Scarlet Eclectic


Exiting the Stream of Consciousness


Everything is telling me we should take a break. All the symptoms are there. I promise it’s not personal, it’s just too much for me to handle right now. And I need to focus. I need to work this out in terms I understand.

Don’t blame yourself. You were perfect.


No more coherent thoughts. No more simplifying things.

out of my hands