Forgive me, Leonard Peacock

TWENTY-FIVE

It’s cold and dark in the woods and I wonder if this is what it’s going to feel like when I’m finally dead— like a stupid unfeeling unthinking unnoticed tree. I’m hoping to feel nothing. Übernothing. I’m hoping that I merely cease to exist. What dreams may come? Hamlet and Lauren would ask.[53] None, I’m betting. None. Hellfire is not in the plans. Heaven is not in the plans. Cold and dark are not in the plans. Übernothing. That’s what I want. Nothing.[54]