Meet The Character: The Penman

A series where I introduce characters from The Xenogen File (working title)

I’m previewing characters from my dystopian/dark fantasy book with snippety-snips from the current draft, because I saw a friend do it, thought it was nifty, and I want to. To ease you in, I’ll start with….

The Penman

An anonymous narrator and philosophizer, chronicling (more like editorializing) the disastrous aftermath of events throughout the story. The Penman is the only character you might not really meet face-to-face (at least…not yet). They’re bleak and tired and a little scornful of how stupid everyone was for things to turn out the way they did. Without further ado, here’s The Penman…

“File Entry ____.

I never could figure this out before. What is it that people actually fear about dying? 

It might seem like an obvious question, but I used to mull it over a lot. Since everything that happened, I don’t have much of anything better to do with my time. And I do have a pretty vested interest in the particulars of death, after all. I’ve lived it.

So, what? It’s got to be more than just an innate survival instinct. Humans waved goodbye to survival when they climbed out of the trees. Standing on two feet is an objectively terrible idea–it exposes all the soft, weak, tasty bits and leaves nothing but an overgrown brain to compensate. It fucks up the back and knees, tilted hips can barely squeeze out half-formed young, and then you’re left with a screaming, shitting, useless parasite to keep alive for years. And humans kept over-engineering their problems until the world was choked with inventions that were supposed to help them.

So, no. Evolution fucked up with that one.

I mean, I get it; death often involves pain. Accidental injury, bludgeoning, drowning, disease. But people are used to pain - it invades every moment of their lives. Ask anyone who’s given birth, and they'll probably tell you that by comparison, drowning would be a walk in the park. Or someone who worked forty years in manual labor, and they’ll agree that the momentary indignity of hitting the ground a hundred feet below a cliff wouldn’t be too bad compared to decades of grinding wear and tear. And anyone who’s ever been abandoned or rejected by the person they love most knows instinctively that death is blissful next to emotional agony.

So we can rule out pain as the main worry. Some people even enjoy it. 

Speaking of abstract ideas…I suppose it could be the prospect of the end of self as you know it. Anticipating your own total disappearance from the universe is another unfortunate side effect of having too bloated a brain. So much self-awareness, it starts to eat at you. It’s the Big Question–how a spiritual being got trapped in a doomed package of jiggly flesh in the first place. It starts feeling like a cruel joke.

Of course there’s the old standby–eternal judgment. People can’t understand death, so they just extend the game into an imaginary future. Although I guess being judged by an angry deity could be enough to make anyone pucker a bit. Everyone knows how depraved they really are, deep down. Even good people know they fucked up.

I mean, hell–all husbands murder their wives, even if they love them. Did you know collectively, married women die younger and unhappier than single ones? And despite the millions and millions of opioid overdoses, poppy farmers are just normal folks growing flowers. Humans murder each other in ways they don’t even realize. Judgment seems a little arbitrary. Most bank on the idea that their souls will be just fine in the end.

And don’t get me started on endings, either–humans end themselves all the time, and even if they don’t, they love to seek oblivion. Disappearing into drugs, love affairs, work, TV, video games. Oblivion is a relief. Some is even mandatory, like the spooky, temporary death of sleep. So if people enjoy oblivion–what could possibly make them fear their inevitable end? I’m sure this will shock you, but I have a theory.

They don’t. 

Have you ever had the intrusive thought when you’re standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon or a balcony twenty stories up? The one that whispers in the back of your mind to just do it – just jump. 

Jump right now. 

See what flying feels like. 

See where dying takes you. 

Maybe not everyone gets that, but in the end, it’s the same curiosity that made people jump out of the trees a bajillion years ago.

It’s not the pain, the oblivion, or the judgment, or the end of self that drives people mad about death. It’s not the unstoppable tread of time slouching toward bethlehem. 

If anything, it’s the opposite. Death is just the next experience, and it isn’t dreadful for any reason other than the simple and unforgivable fact that you’re so obsessed with it. 

It’s how attracted you are to death that bothers you. It’s because everyone who’s gone before you has figured out the mystery, and you have major FOMO about it. People fear a mystery because they can’t stand not knowing, and that’s the same reason they love it. They can’t leave it alone.

Humans are curious creatures; they’re drawn to solve problems, explore the unknown, expand their horizons. Give the human race enough time, and it will solve any problem you throw at it with their big, engorged brains.

Except death. 

People could probably solve that too, but it’s too late. It’s already in their blood, part of the plot, the lore–and they can’t live without it. Sure, death is taboo. It’s addictive. It’s useful. But it’s the one problem you’ll never solve, and not because you can’t.

It’s because deep down, you don’t really want to. You’ve seen everyone else do it, and you want your turn. It’s exciting. Lucrative. Purposeful. 

It’s something by which to define your entire existence, to control your pesky neighbors, to reshape your future, and to enclose your bewilderment inside nice, tidy brackets. 

But what if, when it’s your turn, all the hype around death is just a huge disappointment? What if, after all the anticipation, your final leap into the Great Unknown doesn’t yield a bit of return on the investment? What if there is no reward for solving the mystery in the end? And what if—god forbid—you open your arms at last to the ultimate experience, the destiny you’ve waited for your whole life—and nothing is there to embrace you? 

It’s not that you’re afraid of death. People talk about fear, but what they really mean is longing.

Death is cheap. 

Death is easy. 

What haunts you is that you were so enamored, you built your whole life around it. You created it like a castle in the clouds, then courted it like a lover. You killed for it.

You cared. 

You don’t fear death. You fear being dismissed. Nothing unites the human race like the ultimate certainty of being ignored.

And when you’re so full of the unfounded, unexplainable, idiotic hope that comes with a beating heart, nothing is more terrifying than unrequited love.”