040: mayfly

My end will be here soon. This I know, for such is the curse of my kind; in our very names lurks the question of our vitality, of our pleading existence. There is nothing left in this world for me to see, no horizons over which to soar, no taste save for the memories of my youth so long ago. Just as well that I never accomplished much in my time, for not a soul would even know of my
existence.

Yes, I feel it now, my joints giving way to eternal immobility. I can hear it...my silent requiem...