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<title>The Homestuck Epilogues: Candy - Chapter 14</title>
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<h1>Chapter 14</h1>
<div class="o-story_text o_epilogue type-rg type-sm line-caption line-copy pad-x-0 pad-x-lg pad-b-lg">
<p class="no-indent"><span class="opener type-hs-opener-rg type-hs-opener-sm">Y</span>our name
is Dirk Strider, and you know what you must do.</p>
<p>The decision was made the moment John chose his course. This
world has been set on a path that you cannot tread.</p>
<p>You stand beneath the carapacian bell tower, poised to climb to
the top. Youve brought nothing with you but a long length of rope,
coiled in your steady fist. It is the only thing that you need.</p>
<p class="Command">&gt; Ascend.</p>
<p>You do not hesitate. Your legs feel impressively powerful as you
begin to climb the staircase, two steps at a time. There is nothing
of consequence but your singular task.</p>
<p>You left a note, but you dont expect any of your friends to
understand. Its not important that they do. A flip of the cosmic
coin has rendered your entire life completely inessential. What
could you accomplish in a dead-end existence like this? There are
no stakes. No meaningful challenges. No structures or themes—only
residual chemical reactions in a dying brain, a physical systems
obligate compulsion to exhaust its own lingering momentum. A
cockroach with its head cut off, waiting to die of thirst.</p>
<p>Halfway up the tower, you take flight. Every second you waste
here is a drain on the concept of existence itself. You whip up the
hollow vertical shaft at the center of the spiraling stairs and
erupt into the air beneath the bell. You land on the ledge
overlooking the Carapace Kingdom below and cast a cursory glance
across the landscape beneath you. Its beautiful scenery is a
comical illusion of no matter to you.</p>
<p class="Command">&gt; Get to work.</p>
<p>Your hands move methodically to fashion the hangmans noose. It
is a gesture you have practiced well. You bunch a section of the
rope into an S, and loop the end of the rope around its middle.
Seven wraps, and youre done. You tie it off at the bottom, then
tug the rope taut.</p>
<p>The corrosion has already begun. You can feel the gears slowing,
all the intricate, unseen mechanisms coming unhinged from their
mooring and drifting apart.</p>
<p>Your friends might derive some sense of fulfillment from
satisfying the elementary obligations of self-preservation and
self-propagation, but theres nothing here for you. It doesnt
matter anymore.</p>
<p>There is a beam across the opening of the face of the bell tower
that will serve as a convenient anchor for the rope. You toss the
noose up over the beam and then rise to fasten the knot. You ensure
that it is secure. There can be no mistakes.</p>
<p>You touch back down on the ledge of the tower. You bring the
noose over your head and pull it tight.</p>
<p>Your choice is not between that of life and death. It is between
an ignominious dissolution at the hands of entropy, and one final
act of relevance that can bequeath your meager energies to the
cosmic well from whence they came.</p>
<p>In a certain sense, youve never felt so free.</p>
<p class="Command">&gt; Kill yourself.</p>
<p>You jump.</p>
<p>A meaningful death would, of course, be quick. Brutal. An
expeditious descent, a splash of crimson at the base of the bell
tower, a body that looks otherwise intact if you dont flip it over
to see the dark, mottled bruises where the fetid, septic blood has
begun to pool. You made certain that the rope was long enough for
the velocity of your fall to immediately decapitate you. It slices
through the air with a vicious whipping sound, unspooling in even,
silk-smooth rotations. Just as your epiphany occured at sunset,
your death must occur at sunrise to complete the ouroboros of
symbological harmonic resonance that is your personal arc.</p>
<p>It is the very last moment of narratively consequential action
that will happen in this whole, barren world. The few carapacians
unfortunate enough to have left their homes this early in the
morning will remember this moment forever, but in reality, it lasts
only half a second. The noise your cervical spine makes when it
sunders is indescribably gruesome. Many of the bystanders who
witness your death will later attempt to recount it, but there
really are no words that can adequately express the sound someone
makes when they die. Its a phenomenon that happens on two levels.
First, there is the literal termination of organic processes, which
is to say, the destruction of the meat. Then follows the
dissolution of the ego. And you have quite the ego to dissolve, one
that has flown so high above the forest that not only can it no
longer see the trees, it cannot even conceive of the trees as
material substance with objective meaning.</p>
<p>Yours is a singularity of narcissism—an endlessly recursive
existence so dense that it has no choice but to sprawl out much
further than the boundaries of its person in any given universe or
timeline. Once cut off from that, you become unbearably
dispensable. From a purely utilitarian perspective, killing
yourself is the greatest gift you could give to this dying world. A
valorous sacrifice the likes of which this place will never
experience again. If your severed head could speak, it might say,
“Youre welcome.” But even then, maybe it wouldnt. It might not
care enough to do this shallow realm even that basic courtesy. We
may never know.</p>
<p>Your severed head remains suspended in the loop of the noose,
tight under your jaw, while your limp body bounces off the side of
the bell tower and tumbles to the grass.</p>
<p>Screams sound from below. The horrified carapacian bystanders
scatter and run. Your body tumbles down the side of the hill,
spraying blood from its neck in a volume that makes the foot of the
tower look like the scene of a massacre.</p>
<p>Your heart keeps beating well after youre dead. It keeps
beating until every drop of blood is forced from your corpse, a sea
of gore drenching the earth beneath the scene of your demise.</p>
<p>Your body doesnt get up, and your head doesnt open its eyes.
When you think so little of yourself as a moral character, any act
of self-termination will result in a death that is Just.</p>
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