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  • We have those moments where we realise deep profound truths. The moment of the knowing is usually mundane in my experience. Being in the shower and feeling the bristles on the back of my legs for consideration of whether I should shave them or not. Stretching out the ham-string of my right leg a bit further. The letter that comes later to tell me that my smear test is normal.

    I wonder if it is ok that I get up so late. Not working but applying for things that interest me. I feel guilty. Again.

    I feel guilty a lot. I feel guilty for being alive.

    I should be dead I think. For a long time I thought I was dead.

    Maybe we all are.

    As I consider this more and more it seems right. This is the afterlife. All of us dead, replaying some set of somethings that belong somewhere else. Is that hell? I can't relate to that. What I feel and see around me here is too real.

    Maybe we've all been dead for longer than we care to remember. Only. Now for some reason. I don't feel dead anymore. I feel quietly alive.

    I am alive.

    I think of my Guilt. Its not enough to set it free. Wild and forgiven. I think the dead are hunters of Guilt. Finding it and sheathing great shards of you, me and it, to keep them warm through many Winters of all our own making.

    I have to take that Guilt and kill it myself. Rip its heart out and watch it bleed through. A long, battled blue-blood. A bag of bonely obsequiousness full to its brim. I have to take a great knife and stab it down deep, murmuring thanks for how its death gives me life. Then I must wear the pelt, slung-low and clear. A reminder. I have killed my Guilt. I cannot be caught now.

    This is what makes the Guilt Hunters slowly fade from this place.

    I am alive. And my Guilt is dead.
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